


Recreating Love (A Tale of What Sherlock Wanted.)

by CastingAnthem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 118,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastingAnthem/pseuds/CastingAnthem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS STORY HAS STARTED TO BE REVISED. <br/>This is the story of Sherlock Holmes son Roman. His journey began after the dead of his mother Irene Adler who Roman believed to be someone else growing up. Roman is taken from his home to start a new life somewhere else. Where? London, England. His journey his to find his father, whom may or may not exist. But actually, Sherlock has no idea his son is even alive. During Roman's venture he meets many people who help shape him into the man he will become. Like Sherlock, Roman runs into and befriends John Watson's son, Christopher. But their relationship is far from repeating history; it's deep, intimate, emotional, hidden and dangerous. However, while they're busy trying to figure each other out a string of murders have been occurring that will bring Roman to his knees. The murderer? Closer than you think. Eventually he will risk his life to solve this case and it's harder than you think when daddy's unable to play and Roman is a mortician who disowns his father's tactics. Many more ticks and twist along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one: 5 Stages of Grief After Acknowledgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman Davis lives a normal life, almost. But when his mother (Irene Adler) is killed his world his turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thankfully, i now have my very own editor and i'm super edited about that. We've been going through each chapter and fixing my terrible mistakes. NOT ALL chapters have been fixed, i plan to update for every five we finish. SO! Lets try this again. Note, i have fixed some details, events ect. Thank you and i really hope you enjoy.

Extended Fanfiction (Sherlock)  
By: Colvin  
January 4, 2015  
Disclosure: I own nothing of the original characters or events from the original Sherlock BBC Television show. Also, information on characters and their relationships with each other may differ with time, even their life span. I'm only writing from the data provided to me from season 1 and season 3.  
Chapter one: 5 Stages of Grief After Acknowledgement  
"I'm sorry Mr. Davis, but your mother is dead."  
Who? My mother? ...Dead? Why?  
Those words shot through me worse than a power cord gone bad or even worse, a gun. The news blew me into a reality I didn't think humans experienced, so raw and spiritual. My emotional wounds were left to bleed, infected with this speak. Those words left me confused. A stampede of pain rushed through my head, and my heart seemed to be rioting in my chest. My lungs froze up and I couldn't breathe. This wasn't real.  
"H-how?" My tongue quivered and my voice shattered.  
The man standing in front of me, dressed in all black stood at attention, tensing up even more. It seemed as though he would get stuck like that. A stiff plank. He swallowed hard, and I could feel his tension towards me build. A thick eiry green aura flooded around him. His aura was green. He looked down at me for I wasn't as tall as the adult he was.  
"She was...murdered, Mr. Davis." He sighed with relief once he finished and glazed up pass me.  
Murdered.  
I looked around slowly, still confused and raw. I nodded without much comprehension, backing away from the man. I could not hear anymore.  
"Mr. Davis? I need you to come with me," The man's voice was hard, it gave little comfort or sympathy.  
"Where? W-why?" I backed up more, glaring in his black eyes with war in mine.  
I didn't want to go anywhere. Just stay here, home.  
"Your mother has passed and there is no one else to take care of you. You have to come with me." He held his hand out. "Mr. Davis you are now property of the Federal Government."  
Property? Someone now owned me?  
"No."  
I stepped back more and searched for the railing of the stairs. I was frantic as my chest elevated from fear. I wasn't going with him.  
"Mr. Davis," he said stepping inside.  
"NO!" I yelled as I turned. My feet began to shoot up the stairs.  
Before I even knew what was happening, my feet were no longer in contact with the wooden stairs but instead my chest and face were planted onto it. The pain I felt was nothing. My fight or flight instinct kicked in. Adrenaline started pumping through my blood and my heart felt like it was going to explode. My head turned quickly and the man in black grabbed my foot, trying to pull me from the stairs. His grip was tight, obviously stronger than I was. He had enough of me.  
"Mr. Davis don't make this harder it needs to be! I will taze you!" he shouted.  
Was that a threat? Was he threatening me? I think so.  
I pulled up my free foot and slammed it down onto the man's hand. Smashing his hand gave me the effect I hoped for, and he let go of me and shouted in pain.  
"God dammit! Mr. Heartly get in here and tame this damn kid!"  
Mr. Heartly? Who?  
At that moment I didn't know who he was, but I would soon find out that he'd be the man I'd hate most in the world. The man I would vow to kill when I had the chance. A chance I prayed would come. However, at that moment I was clueless to who Mr. Heartly was. I jumped over the man in black on the floor clutching his hand in pain and ran straight out the door. I didn't know where I was going but I knew I wasn't staying there. I couldn't, they'd take me away. I had one foot out the door before I felt my body forcefully leave gravity's force and fly into a wall.  
Aware of the profuse pain in my head and my throbbing body was lifeless as a doll, I was dizzy and dazed. I only knew I was thrown back into the house, but by what?  
The two men in black stood before me; they were closing in on me, choking me, without laying a hand on me. Suffocating. Stealing my air from my environment. I panicked.  
"LEAVE ME ALO-" I screamed but I did not get to finish.  
A bright blue light flew at me and rammed into my rib cage, becoming one with me. Yet, it wasn't a beautiful moment, rich in color and brightness. Instead pain restricted me to curl into a ball and scream like a child. My body became very hot while I shook uncontrollably. My sweat was ice cold when it surfaced to my skin. Vision starting to distort, everything was gray like a static on a television. All the sounds collided into one as it sounded like sirens and dog whistles. I tasted metal and iron.  
I was losing consciousness as my limbs became heavier and heavier, eventually feeling like they were ten times the original weight. My body kept shaking and I was mumbling something: Mom save me! Please save me!  
Everything went black like the men's clothes and I slipped into an unconscious state. All I felt, saw, tasted, touched, and heard was black.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that it until next Monday. Stayed tuned for next week as Roman Davis wakes and discovers his mother's life and even his own was a huge lie. But he finally gets closer than ever to finding his father while dealing with his mother’s loss. All this and more next Monday, Chapter 2: Denial and Isolation  
> Also sorry for errors, new here. Don't be afraid to message me and give me ideas, help me or review me!


	2. Chapter 2: Denial and Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: When Roman Davis awakes in a strange room and is filled with mind wrecking information, he is forced to recreate a new life. Thus starts the journey for his father, who may not even exist, or be alive. In the mean time he is placed with a man who will change his life forever.

Chapter 2: Denial and Isolation  
When I woke, I was aware of some common things; I was human, male, and in a shit ton of trouble.  
I threw my head around in pain slowly, feeling my brain slide and throb with with motion. My stomach felt like potato mush, road kill, or compacted trash. A deep, deep, uncomfortable sting stung every time i took a breath. I was so sore.  
Where am i?  
The room was so white and bright that my eyes watered. Yet, somehow it was dull and I couldn't see any emotion in the paint. The floor was bleak gray, giving me a sick feeling that worsen the longer i looked. The air was dry and very cold. Only wearing a light flannel and thin pants, goosebumps rose on my skin. The room smelled of various of metals, cleaners, and black coffee.   
I just noticed I was in handcuffs. Handcuffed to a unwelcoming chair. I looked down to think of possible ways to escape, but there wasn't much I could think of. Escaping meant I had to break my wrist, and I wasn't that desperate to leave.  
The door opened and the two men in black that nearly killed me earlier walked in with a women dressed in nice, professional attire with touched up makeup. Her hair was shinny, highlighted gold wrapped in fakes curls, a touch of gray shimmered off it when direct light hit. The smell of cigarettes and hair spray circled her. She used cheap lotions and perfumes to mask the stench she put off. I could smell her very well once she took a seat across from me, locking her aged eyes on me. Glared, unknowing back I saw she had seen things correlating with her job and one of them was dealing with brats like me; I was the piss in her cereal. Her aura was orange. Not the common orange you see around Halloween or on the fruit but the faded, yellow tinted orange. Tropical, almost.  
"Mr. Davis, you caused my boys a lot of trouble to come get you this evening." She laid a cream file on the table and put her hands together, prayer style. I sat there, unresponsive. "Do you understand why you are here tonight." She asked, looking at me, trying to break my guard.  
I said nothing.  
"Last night, your mother Rebecca Davis was found dead."  
I swallowed hard.  
"We’ve identified that it is your mother, Rebecca Marie Davis, 41, born April 16. Living currently at 238 North Winds Street. A elementary teacher of eight years. She has one child: you. Roman Scott Davis, 17, born October 8. " She pulsed. "Your mother's co worker found her and identified her correctly. I’m sorry, but Mr. Davis, I know this must be hard. However, I need your cooperation."  
The room sat in silent as all three of them stared at me. Killing me with stares. My heart was racing i noticed. Sweat gathered on my forehead. All of this pressure was too much.  
"...What do you want from me?"  
Happy with my response she gave a fake smile and opened the file. Inside contained paperwork and a photo of my mother at the top. A photo I had never seen before.  
"Are you aware of your mother's real name is actually Irene Marie Adler?"  
I sat up and looked at her with much confusion. Obviously I didn't know that.  
"No."  
"Well it is. And Mr. Davis your mother originates from the UK."  
Actually, this didn't come to a surprise to me. My mother’s heavy accent gave away that she wasn't originally from the U.S. But whenever I asked about it, she gave me some silly excuse that she grew up in the south.  
"She came to the United States because back in England your mother got into trouble." She flipped through more papers. "She did what we here call dirty work, you're too young to understand what that is, and she also threatened to expose some congressmen of the British parliament."  
My mother was a criminal?  
"Dirty work?" I asked.  
"Mr. Davis, as I said, you are too young to understand." She answered annoyed.  
What did that mean? My mother was a bad enough criminal that she had to move to the United States and change her name? Completely change her life.  
This was too much. I felt light headed, sick and i wasn’t even looking at the floor.  
"Your mother changed her name to protect herself. Three months after her arrival in America, she gave birth to you, making you a U.S. citizen." The women adjusted her hair and continued speaking, "It seems that her past life of crimes finally caught up with her, resulting in her death."  
Her voice started to sound like a drill. Continuous noise and deafening pain. I didn't want to hear anymore. It sounded like a dream. I wanted this to be a dream. Wake up.  
"So-what happens to me?" My voice was breaking. I could cry at any moment.  
"Well, we are investigating her murder and we do plan to bring justice to whoever killed her. In the mean time, since your mother has no relatives we are aware of, our only option is surrendering you the government, and child services will place you within a foster home."  
Foster home? I was no orphan.  
"I... don't want to go to a foster home." I demanded. The air was no longer coming to me.  
"We don't have much of a choice Mr. Davis."  
I began to panic, nearly hyperventilating as my life was falling apart in one day. Everything around me was crashing, burning.  
In a moment of quick thinking, desperate tempts and realization i blurred out something, anything "I have a dad! Right? My d-dad. What about him?" It was a hopeless thought.  
My mother hardly talked about my father. I just knew that he was a handsome man, tall, and very intelligent. Bringing her to her knees with only a glance. I looked almost exactly like him. She told me she really loved him but, but too many complications made it impossible for them to ever be happy together. It made sense now. Kinda. She was a criminal, being in a relationship was too much of a risk. When she became pregnant and knew that I had to be protected she vanished. I was the only thing she had to remind her of their love.  
Did my father know about my existence?  
They all looked at me with pity. Giving me sympathy.  
"Mr. Davis, I don't think you understand. We know nothing of your father. He could be dead for all we know. And if not, then he's probably living in the UK. He could be anywhere. And there’s a chance that he doesn't even want to care of you; it'd be a waste of time and money."  
I sunk in my chair. It was a stupid thought. I felt water rush to my eyes. I was going to cry. Fuck! I put my head down and did my best to hold myself together.  
"Please." I said barely looking at her.  
"It's useless kid. Foster homes aren't so bad. You'll get the care you'll need," Mr. Heartly said, losing patience with me. His aura was a electric neon blue, at the same time I wasn’t sure if that was his real aura or if it was just the only color I was seeing at the time.   
"We'll need a DNA sample." The woman’s voice softened.  
"What? Clint! We don't have time for shit like this!" Mr. Heartly threw his hands up in exasperation.  
I looked up at her with tears in my eyes.  
She reached up and wiped a tear from my eye, "Shut up Heartly. It can't hurt to run Mr. Davis's DNA through the system."  
I felt a small smile form on my face.  
…  
The next day they ran all kinds of test on me. They took blood, saliva, urine, hair, and skin samples. By the end of it all I was exhausted and still sore. A large, red bruise had formed on my side.  
Through all of this chaos, I still hadn’t registered the events that happened. I couldn't cope nor was I ready to. Just two days ago I was staying up late, playing video games and blasting my favorite type of music. Staying in my room for days on end, peeing in bottles, all in the name of video game testing. Some days, I would go outside and simply walk around town and did what I wanted. My mom and I spent a lot of time together. I lived a what I would call a normal life. My mom never showed any signs of distress from her past. I just didn’t understand how my life could change so quick. In a blink of an eye, my mother was dead, I broke a law officer’s hand, I was basically property of the state, (whatever that meant), and now I was on this hopeless journey to find my father. A father I may not have even wanted to know I existed.   
I tried to picture what he could look like, what he'd smell like, and his aura. I also thought of what he was doing with his life, where he was, why he never tried to find my mother. My thoughts held nothing but blue, and not the blue I saw radiate off Mr. Heartly. I saw that sky, electric blue with a hint of white when i looked at Mr. Heartly. Dad’s aura: blue. It was dark, cold, almost black. It gave me an uneasy feeling. I was desperate to know more. See more. I could only think highly of my father. Blue.  
I sat back inside the same room as yesterday. It was just as dull, colorless and uncomforting as I remembered, except this time, I was unhandcuffed. I waited. I didn't have to wait long before Detective Clint, the women from yesterday, and Mr. Heartly came in, both looking tired and sluggish.  
"Now that we have the test done, we wait. Mr. Davis, this can take up 3 weeks for results to come back. And even after they do, it could take even longer for paperwork and start the living arrangements. Do you understand?"  
3 weeks? Where was I going to go for 3 weeks?  
"Yes. But where am I going to go for 3 weeks, or longer?"  
"Well." She glanced at Mr. Heartly. "There's an option of a foster home." Just like that, panic shot through me. "JUST until the results get figured out. Or," she continued when I relaxed a bit, "You stay with Mr. Heartly."  
"What! No!" I stood my ground.  
"Mr. Davis, he's the only qualified agent we have here to care of someone your age." There was little remorse in her voice.  
I looked at Mr. Heartly who was sipping on coffee, looking pissed off as always. When we met eye contact, he gave a cheesy, I fucking hate you smile. His teeth were yellow from coffee and cigarettes.  
He is going to kill me.  
With regret, I said, "Fine."  
…  
The next day I was taken back to my house to collect my things. I was going to be staying with Mr. Heartly until the DNA results came in. I wasn't look forward to the experience.  
Upon returning to the house, it seemed to all be untouched. Inside was muggy, empty, and dark. Something I wasn't use to. Nothing was moved, except the paper my mother left me was now on the ground. It read:  
WENT OUT. BE GOOD.  
-LOVE MOM.  
I bent down and held the paper in my hands, reading the words over and over, hoping to uncover some sort of code, a message to where she was. She just couldn't be dead. I saw nothing but her beautiful handwriting. Reality kept punching me in the face.  
"Hurry up and get your shit together," Mr. Heartly growled from behind me.  
I slowly went up stairs reliving memories of this house. When we first moved here from a small apartment across town, I was sleven and unsure if I was okay with this new, big house. But mom held me in her arms the nights the house was too large for me to handle. I relived the Christmases we shared, birthdays, Mother’s day and other holidays and special occasions we had. I relived every moment of my life I witnessed, to now only see it as a lie. The freedom I had was the result of my mother’s imprisonment in America in order to ensure my safety and allow us to live another day.   
I miss her.  
I got to the top of the stairs and waited to see if she would come out her bedroom, looking youthful and radiant as always.  
She's not coming.  
Walking to her room, I slowly opened the door. The bed was still made, the room was spotless. It still smelled like her perfume. No sign of foul play. I stepped out and hesitantly closed the door. Now, I entered my room. It was dirty, as always. Clothes were scoured everywhere, as was my CDs and shoes. It smelled of my cologne and sweat. My man cave. My space was dark except for my TV. It was still on, but it only showed a gray fuzzy screen. I was playing my XBOX before the government officials came and got me.  
Moments later I found my backpack and began to stuff clothes in it, dirty or not. I pulled some from the floor, my bed, and dresser. I threw everything I thought I would need carelessly into my bag. I tossed clothes and video game cases aside before I found my navy blue scarf.  
Blue Scarf.  
I picked it up, rubbing the fabric, as I remembered the day my mother gave it to me. I was eleven, which meant I was old enough to start questioning my mom endlessly about my father. It was a key point in my life to have a father. I was growing and would need a man’s guidance. To get me to shut up, she dug through her closet and pulled out this blue scarf. It was made of rich fabric and nearly felt like silk. Dragged ends. It smelled of lemon and cigarette smoke. She told me the story of how she lived with him for a bit with his friend, and on her last day before she left, he gave her this scarf. I could tell it was hard for my mother to give that precious memento up to a destructive little boy who wasn’t yet old enough to understand the true value of objects. But I surprised her. I hung it up above my bed for two years until I was old enough to pull off a scarf. I wore it everyday and everywhere.  
"S.S.H" I whispered to myself, as I ran my fingers over the knitted initials. My father's initials.  
S.S.H  
"Hurry up!" I heard Mr. Heartly call.  
Once i snapped out of my trance I scrounged around to collect the rest of my stuff. Then I ran down the stairs and stood in front of Mr. Heartly nervously.  
"Ready now?" There was a trace of anger in his voice.  
I nodded as I looked around uncomfortably at the rest of my home. "What will happen to the rest of this stuff?"  
He sighed and shrugged, "I don't know, storage, sale, up for auction?"  
"I don't want my stuff sold, or my mom’s," I protested.  
"That's not up for me to decide kid."  
All of my stuff my mom's stuff. Sold? No.  
He placed a hand on my back and pushed me out the door. Before I was completely out the door, I managed to grab a picture of my mother and I together, taken to a couple months ago. I secretly stuffed it in my backpack and headed to the car.  
...  
The drive was taking forever. I was getting antsy. I hated being in a car for too long. There were no noises, no music, no conversation, and no emotion. I was going to go crazy.  
"Let's get a couple things straight," Mr. Heartly said, breaking the silence. "There are some set rules you will follow. You will listen to me, and obey me," I felt he was yelling at me, but his voice was low and calm. He wasn't looking at me but I could swear his eyes were raping my soul. "You will not make a mess of my house or yourself. I'm not going to babysit you. You will be responsible for some chores. Do you understand?"  
I nodded to show I understood.  
…  
Pulling into the house, I saw that it was small. One story. An upgraded style with hardly a front yard. The garage was tiny like the house, and the huge red Ford truck Mr. Heartly drove barely fit inside it. I tumbled out of the car, all that sitting made my legs turn into jelly. Mr. Heartly followed steadily behind me to unlock the door. When we stepped inside, we were in the kitchen. It was cramped for space, but modern. Spices of all kinds hung on a shelf above the stove, and there was a bar located in the left corner of the kitchen, covered in different kinds of alcoholic drinks. It was silver and black, everything matched. Moving on to the living room. A huge TV hung over a fake fireplace. The couch was black leather with a coffee table sat in the middle with an old newspaper lying on it. Mr. Heartly pulled me to the left into a small bedroom. It had a twin bed with cream sheets on it. Then the walls were cream, the floor was cream.  
"This is your room. I want it looking like this every morning when you wake up. I expect no less. There’s a bathroom right there." He pointed at a door. "Keep it clean as well."  
He backed away and stood at the doorway, staring at me.  
"Dinner at 6." Heartly closed the door and walked away.  
But that evening I did not join him for dinner. I stayed in my room. Blasting my music through my headphones. Ozzy Osbourne’s voice was the only thing that soothed me from the rushing tears that poured out of me. Mama, I'm coming home.  
For three days, I stayed in my room, barely eating or sleeping. I had no contact with the outside world. I isolated myself. I was in denial.  
Mom, save me. You can't be dead.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it for this week. Like it? Let me know! Sorry for errors, just me, myself and my dyslexia editing.
> 
> Stay tuned in for next week, Chapter 3: Anger and Bargaining. Roman and Mr. Heartly still not getting along. Fighting and coping.


	3. Chapter 3: Anger and Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman and Mr. Heartly are still butting heads. Roman anger is uncontrollable. His attempts to bargain is shot down quickly.

Chapter 3: Anger and Bargaining  
"What do you mean I can't go to my own mothers funeral?!" I shouted at Mr. Heartly.  
He just sat there calmly and teasingly, mocking my efforts at debate.  
"We haven't caught the person who killed your mother, to go to her funeral would only put you at danger, and myself. I can't have that."  
"I don't care!"  
"Mr. Davis!" He barked. "Shut the fuck up! I said no!"  
Anger rose inside me like lava inside a volcano. It was going to erupt, with lava gushing from my mouth in the form of words. Anger.  
I couldn't allow this. He couldn't control me like this. The respectful thing to do for my mother would be to go to the funeral, no matter the danger. She’s my mother. I have to say good-bye.  
I couldn't remember the last time I was this mad, this pissed, filled with uncontrollable vexation. That fiery feeling that formed somewhere very deep inside you that makes your heart double its rate within seconds and your stomach to crap with something like fear or adrenaline. That's how I felt.  
I stood up from my seat at the kitchen, trying to make myself known.   
"I'm going, whether you like it or not. I'll go on foot if I have to!" My voice started as a whisper, and by the end of my statement, it rose to shouting.  
Bad idea.  
Mr. Heartly shot up. Before I had a chance to move back, he grabbed my shirt, pulling me closer to him. I could smell the stale cigarette smoke and the rich coffee bean oder seep out his mouth.  
His eyes were ravenous, filled with hate and misunderstanding.  
Just like mine.  
"Listen here, kid. I'm in fucking charge here, you listen to ME! I don't listen to you! You are not going and that's final! Now shut up before I drive my fist through your teeth!"  
He glared sternly at me to see I got the message.   
I did.  
I stormed inside my room, slamming the door. The sound echoed all throughout the house mercilessly, representing only a fraction of the anger I had inside me.  
This is so unfair.  
I locked my door. I stood there while the fire took control of my body. Sweating, panting, shaking. I wasn't in control anymore, I couldn't have been. I kicked the walls, putting a small hole the size of a nickel in the paint. I punched my bed as hard as i could. It was nice and neat like Mr. Heartly wanted it to be. No more. I ripped the covers and sheets off in a blinding rage. My clothes soared into the ceiling fan, making tearing sounds as they made contact with the swinging blades. My body flew all over the room, causing destruction everywhere I went. I was losing it, completely and utterly losing it. I looked like a child that didn't get his/her way and was throwing a tantrum; well I didn't care. I began to scream, yell, cry into the space that suffocated me. I grabbed my hair, hand fulls of it, and then pulled it, dragging myself against a wall. By that time, gibberish and faint screams fell from my lips as tears fell onto the floor. I folded over supporting myself against the wall, bawling, wailing like a baby. My brain was expanding, pressing, pulsing inside my skull.  
This was too much for me.  
I was so angry at Mr. Heartly for being such an ass about everything. Not understanding, having no remorse for me, and not giving the slightest bit of sympathy. An insensitive prick. I was angry at the law office for taking so long to get my results back. I wanted out of here. Everyday I dreaded to wake up, to fight to see tomorrow. I didn't want to look at it anymore, I was done. I was so pissed off at my mother. Pissed for her being dead. Pissed that I never got to say goodbye and never will thanks to Mr. Heartly. I could never forgive her, or myself. I needed to go that funeral. I was compelled to say good-bye. She's my mother.   
If only I'd known.  
"Shut up you bastard!" Mr. Heartly pounded on the door.  
I'd never experienced a rage quite like this since i was a very small child. I was actually scared of myself. Scared of what i might do to if I didn't calm down.  
I shakily put my headphones on, blasting the heaviest music I had on my Ipod. Letting the music calm me, yet also helping to bottle my pain up. Bottling it up seemed to be the only option I had for the current situation. No one to talk to. I was alone in this.  
So alone.  
For almost week straight, I had random breakdowns of emotions and anger. Emotional and mental breakdowns. I couldn't recall what led up to them, or how I came down from them. I assumed I just blacked out, or at least that’s what use to happen. Sometimes, Mr. Heartly had to hold me down, put me in handcuffs, or tie me down in a chair in the garage for hours when I got too crazy, such as when I'd threaten his life or even mine. Or when I tried to hit him. That was never a good idea. But being blinded with anger, I usually took the swing anyway. God, i’m stupid.  
At another point, Mr. Heartly and I got into pretty bad fights, often too. I can't remember it very well. The last thing I memory I have is of him screaming at me to “get over it”. He always told me to ‘get over it’. That'd pissed me off more than anything. The fight ended in a black eye for me and a busted lip for him. I couldn't remember what we would fight about but I know it hurt. I lost every time. But, I wasn't going to stop trying to kick his hollowed out ass.  
...  
I sat at the kitchen table in deep contemplation, waiting on dinner, thinking about my mother and this new life I was forced to live. I wondered if there was anything I could have done to keep my mother alive. To keep her safe. I would have given her my life if it meant that she could live. Still, that'd do no good. I'd save her for the moment, but she was eventually going to die someday anyway, it was inevitable and there was no way to escape it. I couldn't understand that, so I questioned it.  
"Do you think i could have done anything to stop me mother from being murdered?" That seemed like the phrase I most often said ever since I've arrived here.  
"No."  
No?  
I looked at him with confusion as he just shrugged and gave a "what the fuck else do you want me to say?" death stare.  
I nodded as I had no choice but to accept his answer.  
"How long have I been here?"  
He looked at me like I had gone fully retarded. "Two weeks."  
Two weeks.  
I sighed.  
I still had a lot of questions about my mother and her past life. Nothing was clear anymore. I couldn’t see four inches in front of me. Every time I asked Mr. Heartly he got annoyed and cursed at me. He told me not to worry about it; it was none of my business. His idea of helping me cope only drove me into a spiral madness. I had questions that needed answers, and Mr. Heartly turned out to be a weak source. I had no connection to the internet nor to the outside world. Damn man was too old fashioned. And he wasn't more then maybe ten years older than my mother. The evening news was the only thing he watched, it was also the only time we both actually sat there, quietly. Listening. Nothing about my mother’s death ever appeared on the television.   
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Depression and Acceptance. Roman is hitting rock bottom with grief. He's alone, confused and completely lost. Also, his results are in! Stay tuned! :3


	4. Chapter 4: Depression and Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is deep in grievance and just can't keep himself together. Mr. Heartly is still not helping, making everything worse actually. He feels so lost and alone. Suicidal? But, he hears back from the agency!

4:32pm. That's what my Ipod clock read. I hadn't gotten out of bed all day, nor did I plan to get up. I laid in my own three day filth, no shower. I was depressed, and I knew it. It hit me so hard my chest nearly ripped in two. I cried every moment I could remember, the internal pain was too much. My eyes were constantly red and swollen. I became unresponsive; it'd be maybe six days since I spoke a word. I was starting to forget the sound of my own voice. Whatever I ate, I threw it up soon after. Everything tasted the same.  
My lifestyle was similar to a heroin addict in rehab.  
Depression  
Every night, well the nights that I actually slept, I dreamed of past memories and my mother. She haunted my dreams. She was in a pink cotton blended dress, a fifties look, with her hair down, and those rich dark chocolate brown curls bouncing off her shoulders. Bright red lipstick she wore for as long as I could remember. A smile on her face that in seconds turned into my nightmares. She was screaming my name. Screaming for me to help her, to save her. I woke up screaming and crying uncontrollably just like her. There was no one there to comfort me. No mother’s arms to hold me gently and sing me a lullaby. I just put my head in my hands, crying until I fell asleep again. I couldn’t do this.  
I was a mess, yes.  
Mr. Heartly yelled at me often. I didn't clean much anymore nor did I take care of myself. Two of his rules I broke carelessly. I hardly showered or changed my clothes, and my room stayed dirty, starting to smell like my room back at home.  
I found a way to cope. Something I never saw myself doing. The pain hurt almost equally to the pain I felt on the inside. A slow, agonizing pain. There was no other relief like the one I had just found. Each time I went deeper, testing myself and my body. Testing the pain. Experiments was all i did. Experiences.   
"Where did this come from?" Mr. Heartly grabbed my wrist, looking at it.  
I shrugged.  
"Did you do this Roman?" He roughly grabbed my chin as I tried to look away, "You did." He squinted his eyes at me.  
It seemed like eternity before he spoke again.  
"I'm going to have to call the Psychiatric Treatment Center."  
"NO!"  
"You are hurting yourself! Over nothing! You are a danger to yourself!"  
Screaming. This wasn't helping. All we were doing was screaming.  
"I'm coping!"  
"People don't cope like that. You are doing it for attention."  
"I'm experimenting."  
I don't know what inside me told me it was okay to say that, but it was too late to take it back. I'd never said anything so dumb, with so little sense before.  
Experimenting? What was I experimenting? How deep I could slide a blade across my wrist before I bled out an exceptional amount of blood, maybe enough to kill myself? What was I thinking? Self modulation for recovery.  
But of course he'd bought it. Dumb ass.  
"Well if I see anymore, I'll call them. Find other ways to cope and experiment Mr. Davis."  
Davis.  
To be called Davis anymore didn't sound right. It felt wrong. Adler was my last name. Not Davis. It sounded better anyways.  
For now on, I'm going to be Adler. Roman Scott Adler.  
When I looked into the mirror I saw very little of my mother. I couldn't find her features in me anymore. Tired, worn down, malnourished, and slowly losing it, I lost her presence inside of me. I was starting to see more of a man I didn't know. A man I had never seen before. A man who mocked me when I saw him. I could not grasp a full picture of what he looked like without my own image getting the way. I could not look in the mirror without seeing it, so I quit looking. I put a towel over the bathroom mirror. When I did that I started to dream of my imagined father more. He was tall, his structure overpowered me. Choking me with his deep midnight blue and black ore. Of course it was midnight blue, that's the only time I really saw him, at night. His voice was deep and quick to form words. The right words. A pitch, an octave of his voice I couldn’t remember when I woke up. He moved swiftly from each end of my dreams. His image destroyed everything I had inside me.  
…  
It's not like I just woke up one day and everything was okay. Because it wasn't like that. Sure, I did wake up one day feeling different from all the other days. I felt like everything was going to be okay. I was going to make it. I saw the rainbow at the end of this rain for once.  
The nightmares of my mother’s death stopped almost completely. The dreams, I can't quite call them nightmares, of my father became less nerve wracking and more of a hint. A puzzle of the man. I slept for long periods of time without waking up in fright.  
I felt I was maybe, somehow going to make it.  
Acceptance.  
I hopped into the shower, finally washing 3 weeks of pure hell from my body as well as my mind too. Making the water as hot as i could before it started to burn my skin. I felt reborn, and very clean. I shaved for the first in 3 weeks, I looked like a French guy who turned into a mountain man. I never knew I could grow that much facial hair. It was sick to look at. I put on my cleanest clothes, leaving my room. I'd seen the house many times before; I could walk through it blindfolded without hitting anything, but this time, it seemed like the very first time. My blue eyes were fresh to the scene before me. So many colors i hadn’t noticed.  
"The results came in," Mr. Heartly was leaning against the stove, holding his cell phone.  
I looked at him nervously as he stood emotionless. "Your father is alive, and well."  
He's real. He's alive.  
A sigh of relief poured out of me, completely involuntary.  
"When do I meet him?"  
"It's not that simple. There is still some paperwork to be done. And one more thing, his acknowledgement of your existence is unknown."  
"Oh?" I said confused.  
"Instead, his older brother has offered to care for you until your father’s appearance is known." I smiled slightly. This was really happening. “You should be kissing his ass, if it wasn't for him working so deep into the parliament, they may have never found your dad."  
Dad.  
Energy formed inside me. "When do I leave?"  
"A week."  
Seven days.  
"Where will I be living?"  
"England."  
England. The UK.  
I couldn't help but smile. The smallest grin ever. I walked away almost wanting to run. I was finally out of here, this hell hole. This was seriously happening.  
My father is alive. He’s real.   
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well things are starting to look up aren't they? Next Monday, Chapter 5: The Memory and the Start Over. Roman is days away from leaving, he going to the UK BABY! But Mr. Heartly doesn't plan to let him leave with an experience he'll NEVER forget, it'd shape him for the rest of his life. Viewer desecration is advised! :D  
> About the story, I know it's not exciting or the normal Sherlock fan fiction but you need to understand if I was vocabulary enhanced enough and could think like Sherlock or even John, that's what I'd be writing. I'm huge fan of Smut (sexualness) between them, it's all I read. Aigh, I am only a high school student with limits on my knowledge so have remorse, please? Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5: The Memory and the Start Over.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is due to leave for the UK tomorrow. Mr. Heartly plans to break, no... shatter Roman before his departure. On the other hand, he finally meet Mycroft Holmes and is semi-introduced to his lifestyle.  
> Fair warning: This chapter is very explicit. Non-Con. If it's not your cup of tea please, don't read. I've written STOP and GO to indicate where you stop and start reading again. Viewers desecration is advised.

Chapter 5: The Memory and the Start Over.  
Tomorrow I was going to be on my way to the UK. England to be exactly. My new life was going to begin in an unfamiliar country. Talk about starting over, completely. Leaving the country I grew up in, filled with culture, slime, greed, and poverty, for a country of cultural values and customs I was unaware of. Of course in school I learned the lifestyle of the eighteenth and nineteenth century but after that, I was clueless.  
Over flowing with excitement, I hardly slept as my countdown got smaller. I had more questions filling my head than ever before. No one could answer them, I knew that. I had to find the answers myself. I learned this from the beginning of this whole ordeal.  
I sat on my bed nibbling on some chips and playing some music. I was lost in thought of the possibility of my new life. I covered myself in a blanket and looked out the window into a black night.  
STOP.  
My headphone were blasting some impactful music yet, I still heard the noise from the other side of my door. Removing my headphones, I cautiously blundered off my bed and headed towards the door. Before I knew it my door swung open and Mr. Heartly stood there with barely any posture. It was more of a silhouette than the actual figure of him. But I could smell the alcohol reeking off of him. Plastered drunk.   
Also, his posture and voice bluntly gave it away.  
"Come here," he said holding himself up against my doorway.  
I had no time to react. He charged at me and grabbed my arms, pulling them above my head, pushing me backwards to my bed. He slammed me down and placed his hands around my throat.  
He’s trying to kill me.  
I clawed his arms frantically as he applied pressure to my neck. My airway was being cut off slowly and my vision flashed in and out of focus. I panicked like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap, which made it worse. I couldn't breathe.  
Then he removed his hands, moving to grab my pants, trying to pull them down.  
"NO!" I screamed.  
Struggling against him, from the corner of my eye, I saw him drawing his fist. I threw my hands up over my face just in time for him to punch me, slurringly. Luckily, my hands absorbed most of the impact but my nose felt some of it. It started bleeding as the hot blood leaked down my cheek.  
Dazed with high levels of stress and pain, Mr. Heartly grabbed my arms again and flipped me to my stomach. I fought back the best I could, my legs kicking in revolt. However, they only bruised again the bed-board siding. I felt his hand shoot up through my hair, pulling it back, and then shoving my head down into the bed. Oh god. His other hand slid down to my rim of my pants as he jerked them down exposing me, effortlessly, humiliating me. I screamed out but the mattress absorbed my cries. They only became loud mumbles. I was completely helpless. I threw my arms around desperately, trying to grab anything to help free myself of this, this, murder. But only sheets and blankets came into into my fists. I felt He grabbed my waist and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I was nothing but a bag of trash compared to his drunken strength.  
"Stop squirming!" Mr. Heartly ordered.  
I could not comply. "Put me down!" I continued to brawl. I hit him in the back several times with my weak fist. It was nothing in contrast to what he could do.  
I had no idea where he was taking me and before I had a chance to register we were already in another a room, and I was being thrown onto another bed. A bed that wasn't mine, for the comforter smelt like smoke and sweat. My eyes shot side to side taking in so much sensory information my brain was throbbing, aching. Bedding that smelt like smoke and sweat, the room was small, with nothing on the walls but the head of a doe at the farthest right corner. A dresser to the left with a handgun laying on top of it. Even though I wasn't anywhere near close enough to get it, I compulsively reached for it. I was so scared.  
While my hopeless arm reached out, Mr. Heartly grabbed it. He grabbed my other arm as well and pulled them together. I perceived hard, discomforting, cold metal hit them nonchalantly. They were handcuffs.  
I was laying on my back, almost in fetal position as he grabbed the trim of my boxer, my pants must have slid off in transaction. He began to yank them down, off me completely.  
No! Fuck no!  
I began to struggle again. I was going to pass out. Too much energy and adrenaline was pulsing through my body. This was too much.  
He got on top of me, forcefully spreading my slender legs apart, making a place between them for himself. Expanding me on levels I wasn't okay with. His body, three times the size of me, hovering over me, staring at me with alcohol filled eyes. I couldn't see it, but I sensed it.  
"You ungrateful brat, I sheltered you, clothed you, and fed you!"  
I cringed at his words. I wanted to ball up. I had never been so scared in my life.  
He snatched my hand cuffed wrist and flung them above my head. Holding them in place there. With his other hand, he traveled down south, his rubbed against the back of my thighs. Seconds later… his finger entered me. It was rough, dry, and displeasurable. I was in shock all I could do was scream. The pain made me scream, "S-stop!" as his finger began to thrust inside me. I tried to move away, but it was a worthless effort. All over I felt pain. Pain. I didn't want this. Oh god, I didn't. Please make it stop.  
I could feel him breathing down my neck. He continued to move inside me. Moving at a quickening pace.  
"Shut the fuck up! I going to fucking punish you for all the trouble you've caused me, bitch!" His voice was overly threatening. His teeth clenched together with each word spoken.  
No. Please no.  
He retreated his finger. Relief. His finger was no longer inside but pain still jolted in me. Was it over? I began to struggle once again to get free. I probably looked like a defenseless worm. I didn't care. I was horrified to see what would happen next.  
I heard his belt cling around and a zipper go down. I tried to hold my head up to see what he was doing but I was too weak. Suddenly, feeling a warm solid figure brush against me. I toiled desperately, nearly getting away from his grip before he positioned, then shoved himself inside me.  
Oh fuck.  
At that moment, that very moment, the room was silent, spinning and ringing, unbearable flamboyant ringing, endless ringing was all I heard. It sounded like what you'd hear after an explosion or gunfire. My ear drums were shaking with the sound. The involuntary movement of air flow was destroyed. The lungs buried inside me were cramped in pain, begging for the air to start. But, my mouth was left open with nothing going in or out of it. I threw my head up and my eyes widened, almost popping out of my head. I was blind. My vision black. I clenched my hands as tight as I could, feeling my own nails dig into my palms. The insufferable pain was ripping me in two. I still couldn't breathe. I was not making any noise other than uncontrollable high-pitched air squeaks. The torture, the feeling was all I could focus on.  
He began to thrust in and out of me gradually. The agony remained, and got worse with every thrust.  
This was too much.  
"Relax!" he said in my ear. He nibbled on it.  
When my body made the crucial decision that it was necessary to breathe, or else die here in such shame, the air piled into me all at once. I was drowning in oxygen. I gasped several time, relearning how to breathe again, like a newborn. My lungs inhaled and exhaled too quick for me to catch up. I just kept gasping. On the other hand, my body had given completely up on rebuking him. His thrust then began to get deeper inside me. I wanted to scream with every inch in me but sadly, no major sounds came out of me, just quiet whines and sobs. I pried my eyes shut.  
"You ungrateful, ...intolerable, u-undispersed bastard! I've... fucking put, put up with you for far too l-long now!" His breathing was labored.  
"It-it hurts!" Words formed on their own and they spoke on their own. "I'm sorry!"  
"You're going to be sorry!"  
He mercilessly sunk his gritty, yellow teeth in my side as his thrust became unforgivable. All of this was unforgivable. The crushing pain of his teeth in my ribs made my torso spontaneously lift up, only making the biting worse.  
"Ahh!" The moan at the misery, whining in such shame.  
His hand wrapped around my hip. He forced himself as deep as he could inside me. Thrusting in motion, I could feel his direct body, just a heating wave. I could no longer move. At all. He was so deep, filling me up. I laid there, hurting. Crying.  
Tears on top of tears ran down the sides of my cheek when I opened my eyes only for a brief second. All the water build up was starting to burn. All I saw was a black shadow, racing. Out of all the pain I was in, I could still feel even more unpleasant burning in my eyes. I just wanted this to end. Please let this end. I can't struggle anymore. My body, too tired, and too used hardly supported against him anymore.  
"Ahh- I'm going to.. !" He hushed out from something inside him.  
Oh god please no, shit. Fuck.  
In a last panic-induced struggle, I tried to pull myself forward to get away but he only slammed into me harder and dug his nails into my hip. Soon, a warm sensation was brimming me up. It burned; it was so hot. I couldn't believe what just happened.  
His detached himself away from me. Rolling off of me to the left. "Damn!" he said as he gathered himself.  
I laid there in the mess, the mess he created out me. I shook and stared into the darkness. My eyes watered incredibly, the only thing I could see from my vision was just blurs. I was too terrified to move. I was even more scared that I wouldn't be able to move. It still hurt. Curiously, my eyes slightly angled towards him. He was out cold. I couldn't be sure though, my eyes filled with tears. I stayed frozen.  
I knew I had to get out here before he woke up again but I wasn't sure I could even walk. But by god, I was going to try. I used my stomach muscles, (which was still impaired from him biting me) to pull myself into a sitting position. No pain so far, just discomfort. Now to stand. I felt my toes drive across the carpet. I could still feel my toes, good. I set both my feet firmly on the floor and pushed myself up with strength I hadn't known existed. I was standing, like a toddler, relearning how to walk. I put my right foot out and took a step. My legs were jello, I fell from under them. The pain was resurfacing.  
Keep going Roman. Please.  
I lifted myself back up once more and tried the process all over again. I fell against the floor frame. I had little strength to hold me up. I kept going. Crashing into the walls, looking back frantically to see if Mr. Heartly had awoken. The seconds that were passing by felt like hours. With more force, I accelerated.   
I was finally back in my room. I couldn't believe I was able to find it in the darkness.  
Locking the door behind me, I hustled to reach my bed. I cringed in pain as I limped onto my bed, my left leg was finished working. I reached the side of my bed. It was set up higher than I recalled, but then again I never really paid attention. How was I going to get up there?  
My right leg gave out abruptly. I disassembled to the floor. On my way down I managed to grab handfuls of blankets, they toppled down onto like rain from the sky. There I laid on the floor, centimeters from my bed, in agonizing pain, balling like a little boy. I'm not sure what I was thinking about. I knew i was thinking, because my subconscious voice whispered. Yet, I could not hear it or see it like I normally could. Noncomprehensesable. Seeing nothing but watery black, I felt something strange come over me. Something I found unnerving and quite sinister. I had never felt like this before, and I never felt another thing remotely close to it after.  
My heart rate decreased altogether, and my muscles composed. Kinda like a morning frost that'd last for evermore, eternally feeling the kiss of a balmy, heated summer sun for the first time. The tears stopped. I was now apart of the my internal and external surroundings. I was silent, as the sounds my area dulled like the paint on my walls and the sheets I was swaddled in. I was so calm, empty, harmonious, so vacant. My spirit was leaving my body. It felt like the color, the iris in my eye completely disappeared; now it was nothing but pupil. Hollow eyes. Everything was dark, my eye consumed the blackness that smuggled me. Maybe I was dying, no. I was, I felt- numb. I was- numb.  
So. Numbness. I am numb.  
A quick thought popped in my head before I could think, hear, see, feel no more;  
"I wonder if that handgun, was loaded."  
OKAY, GO.  
…  
Today, was the day I was set to leave. I had all my stuff packed, but it took me an hour longer than it should have to get everything together, for the terminal pain resulting from the night before imprisoned me. I sat on my bed, silently. Waiting. I still had the handcuffs and the sweater on from the other night.  
"Come on. Time to go." Mr. Heartly stood at my doorway, smoking a cigarette.  
I did not move. I did not look at him. I kept my hand down and my wrist twitched making the handcuffs jiggle.  
"Oh yeah." I could hear his foot steps come near me.  
He was basically on top of me. I saw the smoke curl under my hair, into my nose. It stunk so bad. Pure nicotine. He reached forward to get the handcuffs but I jumped back; I wasn't sure what'd he do. He seemed upset by my actions, so he forcefully grabbed the chain of the cuffs. Pulling me off my bed and onto my feet.  
"Don't touch me!" I yelped as I tried to pull away.  
I don't know what his reaction was because I wasn't looking at him, but his body language seemed to be taken back. He left go of the handcuffs.  
"Fine, keep them on. You look better in them anyways."  
That smug creep. Fucking pedophile. You will pay, I promise.  
I walked, more like limped, to the huge red Ford truck parked in the way too small garage, I barely got in it. The handcuff played a major role in my mobility, along with my pain that shot up my back and down my legs. I took a last glance at the place I was forced to stay for almost over a month. I didn't want to remember any of this but I knew I would; it'd haunt me until the day I died. The memories here that were created, I would remember clearer than I'd remember tomorrow's yesterday.  
I couldn’t feel the pain of emotions anymore. I figured that much out. My mother was dead. That was it. I'd be sexually molested, no, raped by some low life fuck. There was no sugar coating it. I knew what had happened. And I was going to be leaving the country to go on a hunt for a man I may not want to know. This was reality. As shitty as it was, it was my life. Great cards I was dealt. Just peachy.  
The drive of course was silent. No emotion from either parties in the car.  
Just recurring memories.  
I couldn't believe the man sitting beside me utterly, completely, destroyed me. Numbed me. He took my safety, vulnerability, innocence and tore it to sheds. I lost my, what some people called "virginity" to this man. I wanted to hate him, but the burning and tingling sensations in my stomach that were normally present for him just weren’t there. I felt nothing.  
He won.  
I gave a quick glance at the demon. Tall, not in exactly "in" shape, just enough muscle for the deed he did. Thin red hair with facial hair to match wrapped around his mouth. His teeth were yellow and his skin was oily. I made a careful and accurate mental image of him so that I wouldn't ever forget him; I knew I didn't have to, but I was compelled to. He'd pay for crossing me.  
…  
The airport was huge. I'd never been in one before, so this was a new for me. I got distracted frequently, gazing at the different cultured people that stood around, either waiting on loved ones or rushing to their flights. So many ores of pinks, reds, blues, oranges, greens, purples, silver, and even gold. Information of my surroundings flooded my brain. I never realized how much my senses could take on. It made my brain jump. I felt over loaded.  
"Hurry up!" Mr. Heartly said as he grabbed the fabric of my sweater and pulled me out of the way of rushing people. I still had the handcuffs, clear in public sight.  
We rudely shoved our way past numbers of faces, faces I forgot the moment I looked away. Colors I didn't know existed crossed my vision, and smells I'd want to live to smell again rose to my nose. It was such a rush. School didn't even give a rush like this, it was just clean air and perfumed plastic kids. This was a noticeable high.  
Everything came to a complete unforeseen stop; I crashed into Mr. Heartly. He gave me a dirty look and pulled me in front of him.   
"Mr. Heartly, just on time." A voice spoke. It was crisp. Covered with a tone I wasn't familiar with, an English accent.   
"Yes," Mr. Heartly held a hand out past me. He shook hands with the tall man. He was even taller than Mr. Heartly.  
"And I assume this is Mr. Davis?" I looked up at him.  
He leaned against a black umbrella and wore an expensive gray, a dollar for every stitch suit, with a silver, blue pattern tie. His hair was well cut, dark mocha brown, and a hint of curl peeked out at the top. He had a clean shave. Perfection. No, impeccable. His build was bulky with a bit of flab in the mid area. Trying to lose weight, I could tell. Maybe not so impeccable, more like overly acceptable. He had the look of a very important person. The way him and Mr. Heartly were dressed left me feeling out of place; I only wearing some tight gray jeans I found under my bed and the light blue sweater from the day back, and a black button up shirt collar and cuff popping out the ends. I felt adequately dressed until these two came into the picture.  
"Adler." I said. It felt uncalled for, but it was too late to take it back.  
"Hmm. Yes, by nature you are neither," the man said.  
Unsure of what he meant, I kept my mouth shut.  
"My name is Mycroft Holmes. Call me Mycroft. Please." He held his hand out with a fake smile wrapped around his large face. Ear to ear, almost unsettling.  
His aura was a carnivorous silver. Almost matching the color of his tie, but this silver was more concentrated.  
Holmes.  
So that was my father's last name. Holmes. It sounded like a new word, yet it felt like I've heard it my whole life. It didn't surprise me. I was emotionally incoherent.  
"When do I get to meet my father," I demanded rather than asked.  
Mycroft laughed softly as he placed a hand on my shoulder. Looking into my eyes, he wasn't even close to my level, he was so colossal like, but I noticed that his blue eyes nearly matched the shade of mine.  
"Soon. My, how you greatly resemble my younger brother in his youth. You already have the appearance and a very blatant personality. Let’s hope that doesn't get you into aggro."  
I blinked at him several times.  
"Mr. Holmes, I must be going. I have to go to work. We will contact you in a couple weeks to check on Mr. Davis and his progress."  
"Alder," I corrected him.  
He pushed me towards Mycroft and mumbled under his breath.  
"Thank you Mr. Heartly. He's in good hands. What about the hand restraints?"  
I think Mr. Heartly and I both forgot they were still on me; we looked confused at first then it set in. Oh yeah. I held my wrist out quite a distance from my body. Mr. Heartly seemed to laugh nervously, which was the most emotion I had ever seen him reveal. He looked almost human, gross. "Oh yeah. It's part of the procedure."  
The handcuffs were gone, exposing deep, questionable bruises. I did not lower my wrist until Heartly shoved it down.  
I hope Mycroft saw.  
"You have six months for his father to claim custody. If you fail to get the paperwork to us before said date we will be forced to take Mr. Davis back to the states and placed into a foster home until he's an adult."  
"Don't you worry Mr. Heartly. Cheers."  
And just like that, Mr. Heartly turned and walked away with his hands in his pocket and head down. He did not look back. I wanted him too, just to flip him off. Give him some hint, that I was coming for him.  
"Now, Mr. Alder, was it? Are you ready to go? We are borrowed time."  
I nodded.  
A man all in black, just like the man whose hand I broke from trying to force me to leave my home, appeared from almost nowhere. He was young and had a deep cut and muscular build. Zero emotion on his face, just like me.  
"Are you ready to go Mr. Holmes?"  
"Yes. I think Mr. Adler and I are set." He smiled at me.  
"I'll fire up the jet."  
Mycroft nodded. I followed his hand to only see it placed on my back. He gave me a little push and we were on our way.  
"Are you excited to see England?"  
I nodded.  
I was on my way to see my new life. My new start-over. It was haunted by a rather terrible past. I fought a long battle to get here, to meet a tall middle-aged man I didn't trust with a huge jet and an even larger country waiting on my arrival.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you made it through alive! This chapter was very emotional to write. I hope i did okay. I'm sorry guys, this is a crucial part in this story. A complete game changer for Roman as you can see! Next Monday join me in Chapter 6: The Information and The Life Style. On his way to England Roman decided to bombard Mycroft with questions about his mother and father. He receives answers he wasn't expecting! You also get a glimpse Roman's new home, much better than before. Finally, some new characters come into play! All this and more!


	6. Chapter 6: The Information and The Life Style.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman finally has a chance to get some questions answered from Mycroft. Roman's new life begins in London! Oh man, oh man! Lastly, some not so new, new characters! A sweet, young, kind, LOUD but not stupid never before seen character.

Chapter 6: The Information and The Life Style.  
The jet was bigger than my mind could grasp. Possibly larger than two normal-sized planes. I pondered on how they even got something this heavy into the sky. I knew that it was far out of my comprehensive vocabulary and encyclopedia to even begin to understand the mechanics involved. Inside, it was mind blowing. Well, to the lesser fortunate maybe. A costly tan colored couch, windows everywhere. It was close enough to a glass jet in it's entirety. Just glass. I was told that if you traveled down farther you'd find bedrooms and a bathroom or two, even a huge flat-screen TV. Everything seemed to be made of gold and silver. Money wasn't an object when buying this jet. I wanted to feel shocked, and maybe deep down inside I was, but on the outside, I just shrugged, gazing.  
"Take a seat. We will taking off soon. Be expecting an eight hour flight." The man in black motioned us to the couch.  
I sat on the far end, looking around, trying not to look impressed. Not that I needed to try that hard; I wasn’t sure I could make any reaction appear on my face even if I wanted it to. My eyes were probably sagged from lack of sleep, and my body was barely presentable.  
"Have you ever rode in a jet before, Mr. Adler?"  
"No."  
"Well rest assured, this will be a pleasurable experience."  
Mycroft's voice sounded oddly promising.  
I looked over to Mycroft who was comfortably sitting on the couch, his legs folded over each other, his right hand held up to his head. He had a contemplative expression on his face, unsure on how to speak or react. But even more, he didn’t take his eyes off me. It made me twitch.  
Time to cut the crap.  
"Can you tell me about my father?"  
He sighed, "What do you already know?"  
"Not much." I shrugged. "Just that he and my mother were lovers, you know. Things couldn't work because... she was in trouble? Often i’ve been told my father was a interesting man."  
"Yes, your mother was in grave trouble." He hesitated. "...but a love connection between my younger brother and your mother didn't not exist, I assure you Mr. Adler."   
"What do you mean?"  
He shifted in his seat. I could tell he was choosing his next words carefully.  
"Irene was causing some chaos within the parliament. She claimed to have information on the government that would ‘bring it to it's knees’. We take threats very seriously."  
"Did you guys have something to hide?" I was cocky with my answer.  
"No. My brother got involved to try and stop her, to take the information she claimed to have."  
"Okay. So he's a cop?"  
He looked exasperated.  
"No. Not exactly. Anyways, in the middle of my brother's confrontation with her, she said she'd never hand over the information, unless, she was granted 24/7 protection from the parliament. We then learned she was in greater danger from more than just us. She was placed with my brother and his… assistant for further investigation." He sat forward and took a sip of what appeared to be a alcoholic drink. "During her residency with my brother, he and her must have partaken in sexual intercourse. His seduction was only in the name of safety for our parliament. She handed over the supposed ‘secret information’ the next day. She had, well, nothing we'd be too worried about. The law system went to search for her to bring her to justice for distress of congress, attempt to corrupt the government, and treason."  
"I was a mistake?"  
Why would my own mother lie about her relationship with my father? I was nothing much a mistake.  
"Yes." Our eyes remained locked. "A careless mistake."  
I should have been crushed by those words, I wanted to be. Instead, I just continued to stare. After all the hell I've been through, finding out that I was just a mistake, a careless, unloved mistake, I was starting to understand why I was currently living in a nightmare. My existance wasn't wanted, needed, or requested. I wasn't a child of passion. A child of deviance.  
I continued on.  
"Why'd she come to America then?"  
"To escape execution of course. Her life was at risk. Nothing we could do."  
"Why?"  
"We don't protect criminals,"  
That was arguable only from me, being her son. I'd want to do anything to protect her.  
"Her coming to America was the best option. A smart one, as she decreased her chances of dying almost completely. Having you saved her life. Changing her for the better anyways." He cleared his throat.  
"Okay. With all this information I've been told, why do you want anything to do with me? I was just a careless mistake."  
He nodded and searched himself for an appropriate answer. "You are still of the Holmes blood."  
So? A disgrace is a disgrace.  
"And?"  
"Mr. Adler. There is just me and my younger brother to carry out the Holmes name. I have a daughter. And as you can see I'm well past the age to produce anymore children. Your father has no other children. You are the key to our succession." With his heavy accent, my brain struggled to organize his speak with his words.  
"My last name isn't Holmes though."  
He laughed, almost mocking me. I hated being mocked. "You will have to earn it."  
Earn it.  
Those words made me squirm. Earn it. I’ve never had to earn a name before. I wasn’t even sure how one earned a last name. What would i have to do?  
"How?" He gave me no response. "Being a mistake, he isn't going to want..." I trailed off.  
"Do not corner yourself Mr. Adler. Family is family."  
Family is family.  
I felt almost relief. Not a lot, but enough to sit back into the couch. My body was hugged by the soft plush fabric. I needed to relax; my body was aching for consolation.  
Why would you keep all this from me mother?  
“If you'd please excuse me I have some paper work to attend to." He stood cautiously, trying not to show pain in his lower back. "Get comfortable, it's a long flight."  
I didn't want to rest.  
Thoughts tumbled on top of each other. I could not concentrate on one without another random one popping in front of it. I thought of my mother and how much she kept from me. How most of her life had been kept a secret, a secret I wasn’t let in on. I should have been. Damn it to God I should have. Spare me from this confusion. My mother was sweet, young at heart, and what I thought was pretty normal. I thought I was just a normal kid.  
So much i thought, but how little i knew.   
Here was I now. On a jet that probably cost more than everything I would ever purchase in my entire life, with a ignorant English man with a accent deeper than the abyss in my stomach. Going who knows where, to do who knows what, until I meet my father.  
In the beginning of it this, I was inexplicably excited to meet my father. Now, I was dreading it, I didn't want to look at him for I knew that he'd see nothing but a mistake he shouldn't have made. He should have been more careful.  
Well I didn't ask to be born.  
My eyes got heavy, lack of sleep was catching up with me. I wouldn't, couldn't sleep knowing that Mr. Heartly was around. Never again. Since i was high in the sky, going away from him I slipped into undesirable, involuntary stages of sleep. REM sleep held me into a choking lullaby. My dreams were nothing but nightmares. Reliving scenarios of my mother's murder. The blood, her blood-curdling screams. Mr. Heartly, the undeniable memory flashed like strobe lights. A different memory presented itself. The shadowed image of my father appeared. His voice vibrating in my brain; "You disgust me!" and "You are a mistake!" bounced off my skull. I couldn't please him. Live up to his expectations.  
Dear God.  
This was too much.  
…  
"Mr. Adler."  
Who?  
"Mr. Adler, It's time to wake up. We have arrived in London."  
Oh yeah. I'm Mr. Adler.  
The words were a bright light. An unforgiving, blinding light in my eyes, burning my pupils. Did words have light, color to them now? This was new.  
I felt around because I had forgotten where I was. A hand grabbed mine and pulled me up. Dammit, I wasn't ready to stand. I couldn't even see. I fell right into the very thing that helped me up. "Sorry!" I yelped an apology while my eyes adjusted.  
"It's quite okay. Come along."  
My eyes only adjusted in time to see Mycroft staring at me with great concern. I crashed into him. Fuck. I assumed my eyes were red and watery. Too much lighting. My body was rejecting every motion to move or function like normal. Maybe, the plane crashed and this was heaven. Lord, i hope not, it’s hurts.  
The door of the costly jet opened. The sun exposed itself to us, exposing me as well. It was so far, yet its rays were so close to me. The light was bright indeed, but the radiance was splendid. It was still daylight here. Right, they were maybe five hours ahead, but it was still only evening.  
"Fuck," I muttered to myself.  
I stumbled out and down the stairs gripping the bars as tight as possible before my hands changed colors. My legs weren't use to gravity yet.  
"The vehicle is this way Mr. Adler." Mycroft put a hand on my back.  
I was clearly unstable in every way. My wobbling legs, clutching hands, spinning mind. I needed this guidance.  
Sure, I had seen London plenty of times on the internet, textbooks, and social media, but to see it in real life was a lot different. Everything came to life. The buildings were breathing, clustered together. Structures of all shapes and sizes. Some older than time, and others just being built. The people were moving; life was culturally different. People weren't much different looking than in America. They dressed in thicker clothing for one thing, which reminded me that I was only in a light jacket. I'd say there was a twenty degree difference. It took me a minute to realize and understand all the auras that people were putting off. Kinda like in the airport, but people here, their auras were deeper, more concentrated colors. They were stronger, giving off more information than just the basics. People here were not just easier to read, they were simple to see through. This was new to me.  
The roads were packed with cabs, trolleys, and regular cars. It was all backwards, the cars were on the left when in America they'd be on the right. Right instead of left. Man, my nerves took a beating, getting used to this congestion and backward ass driving. It made me sorta sick to watch. This new life style made me queasy.  
"Of course," I muttered to myself. It was unlikely that anyone heard me.  
The house, no mansion, was vast. Enormous. I should have expected a massive house. But not even in the most creative part of my brain would I ever imagine it to be this big. Four stories at the very least. Windows in every direction. On the other hand, the colors were boring. Egg shell white and sun-glow yellow. The color didn't take away from the house size, shape, and amazement though. It had an original English look to it, with stairs reaching to the stars. By the time Mycroft and I both reached the top we were panting. A bit out of shape.  
Suddenly, Mycroft stopped in his tracks before opening the door. He removed his overcoat and draped it over his arm. His umbrella propped against the siding. He looked down at me, giving me a faint smile.  
"Bracing myself." He said rolled up his sleeve.  
"For?"  
The black door opened in a slow fashion. Of course it would, it was almost three times my height. I wasn't sure what to expect. What would be on the other side? From what I could tell so far, it was something Mycroft had to prepare himself for. It happened all too fast. As soon as the door opened, something quickly ran toward Mycroft. Someone, maybe.  
"Daddy!" A high pitch voice screamed.  
Daddy?  
My eyes were spinning to find the source of the voice.  
"I missed you!" The voice screamed again.  
There was fragile child burying herself in Mycroft’s arms. Her skin was tanned by the sun but her bright pink aura pinkened her skin. English people’s auras were so concentrated. She hair was ash brown, almost the same color as Mycroft’s, just without the gray. Blue eyes, just like mine, but her's was more crystallized rather than vast, like mine. Smiles as wide as her face. She seemed extra small wrapping her trivial arms around Mycroft's large neck. She was I guess, cute.  
"Adalynn, this is Mr. Adler." Mycroft held her in his arms, squeezing her into a hug.  
They look so happy.  
I faked my best smile at her.  
I'm not positive I even liked children. I was never around any kids other than my own age. She looked to be about five or six.  
"Hi Mr. Adler, I'm Adalynn Simone Holmes, and I'm six years old!" She was confident. So loud.  
"Why are you still in your sleep wear Adalynn? It's evening."  
"I don't know, ask Anthea."  
Mycroft sighed, continuing to hold Adalynn.  
No one said anything. Mycroft was smiling at Adalynn while she planted kisses on his cheeks. He seemed like a good father, maybe even a great one.  
Unwillingly, he popped back into my head. I wasn't a cute child who anyone could easily love, I was nearly an adult. I wasn't cute either. When we meet, I won't be welcomed, and definitely not be embraced in a tight hug and given loving smiles. I would be nothing but an old reminder.  
A women, younger than my mother, strolled by. She came out of nowhere. Just magically appearing from one room to the next. She wore heels to make her taller than almost everything else in the room. A black skirt hugged her arousing legs, and her torso was equipped with a white button up shirt. It was nearly see through. Her aura hazed my eyes with olives, an olive green. Quite unique. She was holding a cell phone, absorbed inside whatever she touching her screen to. I almost could see her beautiful face for her hair covered it. Brown, just like Adalynn’s, Mycroft’s, and mine. It was healthy with natural bouncy curls. The closer she came toward us, the more her beauty glittered. She was wonderful.  
"Anthea," Mycroft sighed, steadily taking the phone from her well groomed hands. "Why isn't Adalynn dressed?"  
This was Anthea. She seemed angered at the loss of her phone; she folded her arms, staring Mycroft in the eyes. She carried blue eyes as well.  
"I got distracted."  
"I see that."  
Mycroft stood, not losing his composure to her. She was unforgiving in her words.  
Something about their auras wasn't right. Of course Mycroft's was silver and her was olive. Adalynn’s aura pink. But when the three stood as close as they were, their auras changed to red. A brick red. And when Anthea reached out to take Adalynn from Mycroft's arms, the red had gotten darker.  
Why did their auras change shades?  
My eyes were burning as hard as I focused on the color changes. I hadn’t seen anything like this before. They had a ore connection.  
This is new.  
"Come along Mr. Adler, I'll show you around," Mycroft spoke.  
The house was breathing, taking inside and out. So much space made me feel vulnerable. There was plenty of air, but I still struggled to breathe. I hoped I'd be able to reach a comfortable level here. Traveling across the house, I was surprised at its style and the items it carried. However I wasn't surprised such items were in this house. It had everything. A cook, maids, and butlers. Only the finer things for the Holmes, I see.  
We struggled together up the stairs. Two cases of stairs. Man, that's a lot of climbing.  
"Your room is this way."  
We carried on to the right side, passing multiple paintings by artists I didn't know or ever would know, structures, and fake, maybe real plants.   
Mycroft opened the door to what would be my room on the other side.  
It was a tall as my old house, back in America. The walls were royal blue with English wallpaper. A king sized bed was placed in the middle of the room, pillows covering almost the whole thing. So much softness. Instead of the creaminess I was used to at Mr. Heartly’s house, this room had personality and color. Dark blue walls, black shades, bedding, including the pillows. The flooring, western red cedar, was the lightest color in the room. A book case nearly poking the ceiling mightily stood in a far left corner of the room. Books of all size and thickness filled the rows. Some seemed to be recent and even popular in America, and others were old and possibly be an original. It didn’t amaze me though. I wasn't much of a reader then. A desk sat beside it. A long black desk with many tiny shelves on the side wrapped around it, almost making a circle. A study as they called it. The television hung in the corner on the room at an angle, just perfect enough to be watched from the bed. It was a huge TV. Bigger than the one back at home.  
Home.  
I was thinking about home again. I missed the smell, sugar cookies, and vanilla all year around. This room busted the fragrance of pine, stall smoke, and polishing agents. My home was a home and my mother filled it with us. Her love and our familyship. This house was full of emotion too, but I couldn’t attach myself to any of it.  
This is your new home.  
I signed, trying to clear my mind.  
For now.  
"Get comfortable." Mycroft patted me on the back. "Dinner is in a hour or so."  
I nodded.  
This was a big change, coming from a lower middle class family to possibly the richest family in England. Oh man.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Please don't be scared to review, favorite, follow please! It'd help so much. I need support. But anyways I'm thinking about posting Chapter 7: The Test and The Tested. WEDNESDAY! So maybe be looking forward to that! In Chapter 7, things have changed around and inside Roman majorly. Some more new characters! Some test and some arguments! OH yeahh. Soon!


	7. Chapter 7: The Test and The Tested.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is getting comfortable in his new home. Becoming a new person entirely. Mycroft informs him of some tests he must take. The results paid off more than what Roman expected.

Chapter 7: The Test and The Tested.  
Moving from not so much rags to by far beyond the riches took me a long time to adjust. I didn't have any responsibility or chores. I could basically do whatever I wanted, although I didn't. There was only one rule Mycroft had: I couldn't leave the mansion without his knowledge. The times I did leave, I had two, secret service men most likely, following me at all times. Everywhere I went. So I stopped going out. Instead, I mainly hid out in my room, sometimes for days. Or Adalynn would knock on my door until I answered to play some type of child's game. I didn't say no, I wasn't that mean. Except one time we were playing hide and seek and I got bored of looking for her. I was told she stayed in the same place for three hours. Oops?  
But more than just the living standards changed. I was given a new wardrobe of clothes to wear. Fancy pants, or trousers as they said here. And not just regular pants, they were high priced dress pants. Expensive shirts of dark colors that looked like if I, a slob, would touch them they'd disintegrate on the spot. The pricey fabrics made me curl. When I had to put them on, I felt I was going to a funeral or wedding. Meeting the Queen of England. I tried to protest at the style, but I might as well have been mute. No one was listening. Don't get me wrong, it wasn’t like I looked bad or anything, but wearing a four hundred dollar (I’m guessing) suit to dinner seemed a bit excessive.  
That wasn’t all. Even my hair style changed. I went from shaggy loose dark chocolate curls at the end, a punk look, to a clean pristine business man cut. Not only the length changed, but the way I styled it had as well. Sometimes it was slicked back with gels that probably costed more than my kidney. Other times I could wear it freely, the jagged curls laid like a tornado on my head. When I ran my hands through my hair, it'd send my fingers in a circular motion. A bed-head style I called it.  
I felt like a totally different person. I wasn't a teenager anymore, I was a young adult. The way I dressed, looked, and behaved changed. I was no longer an emotional, shy, backwards child. I was quiet, observant, absent-minded, and empty. I felt empty all the time. Alone and by myself.  
Mycroft informed me that I wouldn't be finishing up my schooling. Instead, he'd hire a tutor to teach me and I would soon get a diploma. Going to school was pointless, I couldn't learn nearly as much as I could at home. I didn't have a reaction. I didn't leave my room anymore, and surrounding me with books of various subjects and stories was good enough. I used to hate reading, but now it was all I did. I read books on the human body, psychology, math, and science. On a few occasions I read the classics: The Catcher In The Rye, Moby-Dick, Pride and Prejudice and one of my favorites, The Great Gatsby. In the end, I took my test without a tutor and passed with "flying colors”. The administer said I should continue onto university. Mycroft quickly shot that down. Again, I had no reaction.  
Before I knew it, I had already been here for three months. I drowned myself in knowledge, and I hadn't even noticed. Mycroft was hardly around, too busy with work. No one would give me any intel on my father’s whereabouts. I was starting to think that he was dead. I only had six months total to find him and see if I was good enough for him; I knew I wouldn't be. I stayed here because I knew I had no where else to go. I couldn't emotionally connect with the possible outcomes. Either, he'd show up at the last minute and I'd be saved from returning to America with Mr. Heartly, or I'd be forced to go with him and never see my other life again. I couldn't mentally deal with that so I repressed it.  
It was too much for me.  
…  
ALGOR MORTIS - The cooling of the body immediately after death to room temperature and temporary stiffening of the muscles.  
RIGOR MORTIS - Rigidity of the muscles which occurs at death.  
PUTREFACTION - The decomposition of the body upon death which causes discoloration and the formation of a foul smelling product.  
I was staring out the window recounting, remembering, reorganizing a wide vocabulary I remembered from one of the Human Body After Death books I read several times. I could recall almost every page, photo, and caption from the book. Captivating.  
A hard knock echoed a medley throughout my room. Judging by the tone, hardness, and length between each contact with wood, it was Mycroft. I was able to identity a person by the way they knocked. I always knew who was on the other side.  
The door opened without my permission. He usually did that.  
"Afternoon Mycroft." I continued to stare out the window, watching Adalynn pull Anthea into a black, technologically advanced car.  
"It's evening Mr. Adler."  
"Oh, right. Funny, jet lag is still affecting me, even after three months." I turned to him as he stood, brave. Dressed in his normal fancy attire. He looked tired. "You know, I have only three more months."  
"I am aware Mr. Adler. Do not worry."  
He hasn’t forgotten, but he tried. Oh how he tried.  
"Why are you here?" I asked.  
"You have testing today."  
"Testing? Testing for what?"  
"Your father is a very intelligent man. Far beyond the normal study." He sighed. "However, the Holmes relatively are."  
"I don't believe you can accurately measure intelligence."  
"I see. Well these tests will be rather simple. We are expecting high results from you Mr. Adler."  
He turned on his heels and left before I had a chance to give another snudly comment.  
This should be...fun.  
...  
I was sitting in a room that reminded, no, completely took me back the questioning room I was placed into when learning about my mother's real life and the life I would soon succumb to living. The information nearly killed me. I could remember the smell, cleaners, and smoke, how it made me feel: cold, alone, and gullible. This time was different though, I wasn't in handcuffs, and thank god, Detective Clint or Mr. Heartly wouldn't be coming through the door on the other side. This room was more welcoming.  
I leaned around in the chair while an older man, much older than Mycroft, entered the room. The first thing I noticed was that his aura was bright yellow, bright enough to make me squint to see his other features. A short man, a full head of gray hair, soft facial structure, eyes that seemed to actually be yellow. His attire was casual: blue jeans and plaid shirt with a tie that hardly matched. A long tan over coat, obviously bigger than him. It must have been hard for him to shop for clothes his size.  
About mid-fifties, wife passed about two years ago of heart attack. Shame. Three kids, one in prison for murder of her beating husband. A farmer, cattle and hog. Religious, Irish ethnic born and what else? Oh, he's very keen to see me. Wait, what the fuck did I just do?  
I shook my head in confusion on what my brain just deduced. I had never had anything like that happen before. I was always surprised of what my brain could do now-a-days.   
Did I just give a synopsis on this guy?   
He sat across from me holding a clipboard and a red ink pen.  
"How are we feeling Mr. Adler?"  
By God he was really Irish. His accent give it away so easily.  
"Fine."  
"I'm Doctor Cyril."  
I only could stare and await his next smiley reply. I wasn't focused enough to say anything else.  
"I'm going to be running some tests on you. Nothing active, just vocal. Understand?"  
I nodded.  
"Do you find it difficult to understand how people are feeling when they are talking to you?"  
Well, I'm not sure I understand the question.  
"What do you mean?"  
He wrote something down, I couldn't read it.  
"Do you find it hard to read someone face, hand, or body movement when they’re talking to you?" He moved his hands in a circle while he talked, I followed his movements and he wrote nothing down, but he continued. "When people are talking to you, do you find it hard to know when it's your turn to talk?"  
I blinked at him rapidly. These questions were making me feel strange.  
"Uh-" That's what manage to stumble out of my mouth. Only because he was staring really hard at me.  
He wrote something down.  
"When you were young, or even now, do you cover your ears at loud sounds. Like a vacuum, fireworks, or people being too loud?"  
Being overwhelmed with his question I scrambled through my brain to try and see if that was true or not.  
"Yes." That sounded a sufficient reply.  
He wrote something down.  
Fuck.  
"And last question. Do you ever feel overwhelmed with your senses you have to isolate yourself to shut them down?"  
I was overwhelmed right now. He knew that. What did these questions even mean? What did they have to do with my intelligences?  
I thought hard about this last question, I wanted to get it right. I took a deep breath.  
Do I ever feel overwhelmed with my senses? Of course I do. Sometimes smells become too strong, taste become too sweet or too bitter, and auras become too bright, hurting my eyes, just like Doctor Cyril's. So yes. The answer is yes.  
"Yes."  
He wrote something down.  
Dammit!  
"What was that for exactly?"  
He finished writing what he needed down then looked up at me with a warm smile on this face. "Mr. Adler, your father has a mild case of autism."  
"Okay?" I said.  
"Just by these few questions it seems the hereditary did indeed carry onto you. Have you ever been tested for autism?"  
My mother liked me to maintain a normal life as much as possible, so if I had been questioned before I didn’'t remember nor was I ever the told the results. Just another thing she had keep from me. Damn her.  
"What do these results mean?"  
"Oh nothing really." He waved his hand being frank. "Having autism doesn't make you at a disadvantage, more like an advantage."  
Advantage.  
I looked at Cyril lost, I was lost. In the past couple months I'd forgotten what it felt like to be lost. Coming to England and living out of my room I wasn't lost, at least, I didn't feel that way. I knew where I was, who I was, and how much of a person I had changed since this journey began. Only, I didn't know where I was going. He was trying to ruin that for me now. No.  
"What kinds of advantages?" I asked.  
"Oh, hm. Different kinds of advantages. Do you often feel different from everyone else? Maybe in a spiritual, psychological, and physical way?"  
I had to ponder about that question. It was a loaded one. I took it step by step.  
Do you feel different from everyone else?  
Other than the obviously factor I looked different from everyone else, sometimes. I feel no one else really understands what I want, how I feel. I feel I can see deeper into people than what they see in themselves, like I strangely did with Doctor Cyril. I'm not even sure where that came from. It was a scary discovery. So sometimes.  
Different in a spiritual way?  
Yes. That's easy. I have a better awareness of myself than normal people. I know how I feel, exactly how I feel, while others don't. I'm more connected with who I am, how far to push or pull myself. I'm aware of my self changes.  
Different in a psychological way?  
I suppose. I can feel when my mental status is about to break, emotionally. I know what I'm capable of. Unlike other people, I know I’m different, and it's not a good thing.  
Different in a physical way?  
I'm not sure what that meant but I'm guessing it's based on how I act. I was clearly different. Before all this, I'd like to think I was normal but there'd be days I would pick that normalcy apart. I did not have any friends, I was a loner. I brainwashed myself, filled myself with worthless information of video games and social media. I was uncomfortably close to my mother. Now, I go days on end without talking, sleeping, or eating. You'd think that I was deep within some trance and thought process, but you'd be wrong. I was just existing. Those days without the human needs, I was just there. I don't remember thinking, relieving myself (if I did), even breathing. I was a hollow human. I couldn't feel anymore, I knew I was numb but not this numb. Damn.  
It was time I answered. I wasn't sure how long we'd been sitting here, dumbfounded.  
"Maybe."  
He nodded and studied me more, I studied him back.  
Nicotine addict, clearly heart diseased, working for Mycroft. He knows me better than he's acting. Damn, I did it again.  
"Having autism gives you great advantage in things normal humans are not aware of."  
"Such as?"  
"Heightened senses. Your father a malicious visual memory. Could paint an entire globe just from memory." His eyebrows rose looking at me. "I propose you have a heightened sense?"  
Vision memory?Sure, I could memorize a page out of a book, a long strand of numbers, various dates, what my room looked like and where everything was, but I was sure it wasn't even close to what my father saw. He seemed much more gifted than me.   
"Can you memorize this number sequence?"  
Doctor Cyril a placed a white card in front of me. On it contained the beginnings of pi: 3.141592653589793238. I stared at it, gathering the pattern in my mind.  
Too bad. I had already learned the first hundred numbers of pi when I was studying for the graduation test. Mycroft told me it'd come in handy, he was right.  
I flipped over the card and looked him directly in the eyes. "3.141592653589793238462." I added on 3 more digits to brag.  
"Good job." He didn't seem surprised.  
"What are testing me other than for autism?"  
"Mycroft wants to see how intelligent you are compared to your father."  
"How am I doing?" I cocked my head to the side.  
"Your no where near close." He chuckled at me.  
"Oh?"  
I was oddly disappointed.  
"We took your results from testing at your school in America and compared them to what you scored on your graduation test. You improved by 92.4%. But your father was far more intelligent at your age than you are right now. However, your ability to learn what you have in such a small amount of time is miraculous. You have a long way to go." He licked his lips. "Your father was good at giving a deduction of a person without them saying a word. It came in handy. Could you do that? Just look at me and tell me what you see."  
Oh god it was pouring out of my mouth, "I see, that you are about mid-fifties, 58 to be exact. Your wife of twenty plus years passed away about two years ago of a heart attack, you still wear the ring because you truly, deeply, love her. You have three kids, two girls and one boy. One child is in prison for murder of her beating husband. I don't think she should have gone to prison for that, revenge is a bitch. You are a farmer, cattle and hog. You are religious, Irish ethnic born and what else? "  
His eyes widened and his mouth almost fell to the ground.  
"Oh! You are nicotine addict, just like 90% of London. You have heart disease, and you have Parkinson's. How I know that is, when you hold your pen, right handed, your elbows shake. Easy." I was almost surprised at the content that was coming out of my mouth, "Am I wrong?"  
"N-no." He fumbled over his tongue. "...Expect I'm not religious and I'm naturally left handed. I can't write with it anymore 'cause of carpal tunnel."  
We continued to do his meaningless test while I complied, barely. Testing me for color blindness, lax hearing, association testing, and common surveys. I saw no point in doing this. I had better things to do.  
"Mr. Adler. You have honestly shocked me. Mycroft must hear this. Damn, you are well on your way to be the next Sherlock Holmes."  
Sherlock Holmes.  
"Who?" I was quite intrigued.  
He stopped everything. The smiles melted away, he looked ten year older. He said something he shouldn't have. "Nevermind that. I must be going. Nice to meet you. We will be meeting again, shortly." He quickly gathered his coat, papers and himself. He left the room panicked. There was no one left but me and this new name i learned.  
"Shhherrrlockk," The letters danced on my tongue. It was nearly a whisper.  
…  
I was back in my room. I didn’t remember how I got there. Walked, I guess. I found myself staring out the window, like usual. It exposed my body to the night sky. I propped myself against the glass. Thinking, deeply thinking. This new name was interesting. Who was he? What did he have to do with me? My father, maybe?  
My bedroom door swung open and Mycroft stormed in, I felt his anger fill my room. Killing off my stale air and filling it with angry, poisoned air.  
"What the hell are you doing?" He gritted his teeth together.  
"Looking out the window."  
"Don't be smart with me! You searched Doctor Cyril!"  
"No I didn't?"  
He came closer to me. His face looked drawn on, a face couldn't look so pissed. I could see his angry breathing.  
"You lied in your test and you conned him into telling you information you had no business knowing!"  
"Oh? I'm not allowed to know my own father's name?"  
"NO!" He was screaming.  
I didn't understand why he was upset. I did not lie on my test. How could I? Plus, slipping out the name was a mistake and bound to happen.  
"So his name is Sherlock Holmes? Plus, I didn't do anything wrong. I told the truth. He said I could be just like my father one day. Isn't that what you are aiming for?" I mocked him.  
He balled his fists and tried not to lose his composure. Oh fuck. I was going to get hit.  
"You will never be Sherlock Holmes! There will never be another Sherlock Holmes!"  
Anger. An emotion I hadn't felt in months started ripping its way up inside me, starting in my legs, up to my torso and by the time it got to my head, my face flushed and I was going to exploded. How had no right to be yelling at me like this. How fucking dare he. I'll show him.  
"THEN WHY THE HELL AM I HERE?"  
He was startled at my protest.  
"To keep the family name alive."  
"That doesn't make any fucking sense! You lock me up in this house, never let me go anywhere without someone babysitting me! Whipping my ass! You force me to learn all this shit without an explanation! During all of this you haven't done a damn thing about me meeting my father! Mycroft we only have three months! What are you waiting for?!"  
The room broke. It was broken. No more air, no more space, no more noise. Just pure silence. I was back in control of my surroundings.  
"...I don't want you to be a disappointment to your father."  
"The only one I keep disappointing is YOU!"  
"No, you haven't Roman. You have amazed me beyond belief. You have obtained information and knowledge that took years for anyone to learn and you did it in a couple months. You are extremely gifted. You will make your father proud. But you aren't ready." His tone was softer than normal, I almost didn’t recognize it anymore. It was deep, stable, careful.  
Maybe he knew he overstepped his boundaries.  
"When will I meet him?"  
"Soon. He is busy in the Netherlands."  
"Why?"  
"You have his name, look him up on the internet and find out." There was almost a smile on his face.  
Mycroft must have felt that it was his cue to leave. He turned to leave, trying to not feel embarrassed at his uproar.  
"Hey, Mycroft." I went back to staring out the window.  
"Yes?" He did not look at me, just stopped, keeping his head down.  
"I didn't lie."  
I could hear him sigh, maybe a sigh of relief or sorrow. I don't know.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ain't that something! Got nervous towards the end huh? Haha, I did. Like it? Review me, please. ._. If you people like this let me know Favorite, follow. Go big or go home, right? Well I'll updating my normal Monday time! Chapter 8: The Discovery and The Expectations. Tempting huh? Haha it's an interesting chapter, I had fun writing it. Some quality time for Roman and Adalynn (So cute). Roman's learns a SHIT TON of stuff about his father, Sherlock Holmes and his amazing, awesome, cute, short, handsome, sexy, arousing... okay I need to stop, but his partner! And some more Of Doctor Cyril! Roman tells him one of his secrets O_O stay tuned for next time! Love you guys :D


	8. Chapter 8: The Discovery and The Expectations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is dying to know more about his father. He finds some more information while spending some quality time with Adalynn. So cute! Another visit with Doctor Cyril. Roman tells Cyril one of his ...secrets I guess you could call it?

Chapter 8: The Discovery and The Expectations.  
You'd doubtlessly think that as soon as I found out my father's name, I would begin my search. But I didn't. What was I really looking for? Maybe some records on his job, schooling, some pictures (I was dying to know what he looked like), and even what he meant to his own name. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to pull up that internet browser and get lost in the vast information online. I figured whatever information I really needed to know Mycroft could tell me. Anyways, with the brainwashing Mycroft did to me, I was never going to be important to him. Why fill myself up with false hope? I knew better. I'd rather see him face to face, father to son, eye to eye and then we could go on from there.  
However, curiosity did more than just kill the cat, it tore it to pieces. I broke down within two weeks. I had to know, just a little. His job and what was so special about him having autism. Which I guess, I was infected with as well. Previous to knowing about my father's disability, my idea of someone having autism was a scary thought. I remembered a girl I went to elementary school with. She had autism, throwing aggressive, loud fits of emotion, talking to herself, often words you could never make out. Consistently moving her arms and legs, running around. Antisocial. Anyone who came around her, she either hit, screamed at, or cried. She was scarring for a child my age. So, after that my experience with this disability I was constrained to be scared of it. That apparently wasn't the case with my father. Capable to function like a normal person, have extensive intelligence, and surprisingly, able to have produce a child with my mother. After doing my required research, I found out my father had HFA or High-Functioning Autism. There was no way I could fit into that category. I wasn't smart enough, Doctor Cyril told me. Sure, my power to communicate with people normally lagged a bit, I was seemingly over-emotional, spaced out, misunderstood some things, and I also had my strong reactions to sounds, textures, and other surroundings. Nevertheless, I did my best not to notice my autistic tendencies. The overpowering senses and being emotionless in regards to people's feelings. Had I truly always been this way? I had not noticed, I had no reason to. That girl from school set a terrible example of autism. Now, I was part of that disease.  
I often thought about my ability to see an aura around people. I questioned what it meant, even took time to research it, but I found nothing but paranormal information. I wasn't seeing ghosts. It was rather simple, it was just a color that smothered people. It ranged in hundreds of different colors and shades. They changed intensities with their behavior. I guess that’s how I knew how emotional people were. I saw the aura rather than the face and body language. What did the aura mean? Was it my way of seeing emotion and some form of personality? I thought about bringing it up to Doctor Cyril the next time I saw him, but I wondered if he’d just think that I was crazy. I didn't need that. It would probably turn into mental therapy for schizophrenia. I'm not hearing voices.  
…  
Remember the curiosity that was broken? It was shattered, smashed, and utterly busted. I was filled with incurable wonderance. Just a sample into my father's mystery life. He had to be more human than what my dreams were telling me.  
That's it. I'm going to do it.  
Adalynn took my laptop. Dammit.  
Before I realized what I was doing, I was out my room and marching down the hall. I wasn't even sure I knew where I was headed, considering I hardly left my room. I hoped I wouldn't get lost. But the unmistakable shining pink that filled the entire hallway showed me the way. So much pink. My eyes were going to melt.  
Walking into her room was exactly how I pictured it. A pretty pure puke pink nightmare. The walls: pink, the carpet: pink, the bed, telly, and the children's playthings: all pink. It smelt like sugar, plastic, and sweet roses. It didn't help that her aura naturally glowed a pink that made my eyes quickly slam shut. And as soon as I blindly took a step forward, I tripped over a hard, rubbery object. Luckily, I was able to catch myself against the wall before face-planting.  
"Roman? What are you going here?" She acted innocent.  
"...I need my laptop."  
I was trying to regain back my balance. My eyes were burning like fresh cut unions.  
"Aww! Why?" Her voice. Too loud, sounding like booming rockets. It was high pitched.  
"Because!" I shot back, rubbing my eyes.  
When I removed my hands she was staring up at me closely, puzzled.  
I sighed regretfully and walked over to her. I sat down on the floor next to her (more like collapsed beside her), pulling the laptop over to me, while she watched me intently. She had some virtual reality game up, with pink ponies dancing all over the street. So much pink. How does this child not get sick from looking at it all the time?  
"Whatcha gonna play?" she asked, leaning over to see the screen.  
"I'm doing some quick research."  
"What's that?"  
Oh god, my patience with kids was nonexistence. Growing up, I was an only child. My mother had no friends with kids that I could remember. And the only time I dealt with other kids was at school, and I could barely deal with that. I didn't talk to people, I steered clear to avoid stupidity. I was socially impaired, now that i look back at it.  
I sighed.  
The computer's view was crooked for only a moment, then everything returned to normal. Almost. I felt slight pressure on my crossed legs.  
"I wanna watch."  
I looked down to see the fragile, light as a feather brat sitting in my lap. Just sitting on me like I wasn’t a stranger, or even taking into consideration that possibly maybe I was uncomfortable. I hadn’t been this close to another person like this in a long time. I felt weird. I put my hands around her sides to move her, but instead I didn't. For some reason, my neurotransmitter wouldn't signal my arms to push her away. I just pulled her against my chest to get a clearer view. I was now breathing in her scent, she smelled like powder. Adalynn, from the moment I met her, never treated me like a stranger. She honestly made me feel and look like I was apart of this family more than anyone else did. She was never scared of me, even when I yelled at her, she was unmoved. I envied this child. So brave and so happy. Maybe she had autism too.  
I pulled up a search engine on the laptop. I quickly typed in Sherlock Holmes, pressing enter when I finished. I clicked on the first link out of many that appeared on screen. It was a local news website.  
The headline read: Holmes Does It Again! Selene Murder Solved!  
I scanned quickly over the report.  
I went back and clicked another link, opening another website.  
Headline: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson Partners?  
Clicked another link.  
Headline: "Four Suicides Actually Four Murders"? Says Mr. Holmes.  
I did this process about a dozen times without much thought. I would have continued if Adalynn hadn't interrupted me. "What is it saying? Is it talking about Daddy? I see my last name."  
In frustration I answered, "No."  
I went back to reading. Adalynn sat there, fidgeting with my shoe laces. She was getting bored. I almost forgot that most children her age only have an attention span of no longer than a minute and a half or so.   
I couldn't hold out anymore. I had to know. I told myself over and over again to not look because it would hurt me, pull me down, and probably destroy me. But the resources to see it were basically at my finger tips. I stopped reading a report about Sherlock cracking a five year old case in less than a week and went back to the main page with all the links on it. I hesitantly dragged the mouse to the "image" tab, gazing at it.  
Do you really wanna torture yourself like this Roman?  
I clicked on it.  
Of course you do.  
Instantly, images flooded the screen and my brain. Extreme overload. I could not concentrate on just one picture. Abort mission.  
"Hey look! It's Uncle Sherlock!" She pointed at a picture on the screen.  
It was a picture clearly taken by a news photographer. On the right stood a man taller than the one beside him. The right man wore a long, popularly seen in London, black over-coat. The collar was popping around his neck, making him look superior to everyone else. A blue scarf, much like the one my mother gave me, hugged his neck. He was very pale, had a bash smile, and had deep blue eyes, much like Mycroft's and mine. His hair was curly, creating an odd shape around his head. He was exactly how I pictured him, only more human and less scary. The man on the right was my father. Well. To his left, another man stood rather close. Having a lack of height, yet broad and sturdy look, the man tried to smile. But the soft feature clashed with the experience of wear and tear on his face. His hair had a straight sandy color gray/blonde swirling throughout it, a shorter cut than Sherlock. He had a black Haversack coat. Very handsome kind of guy, so was my father, but I didn't want to sound egotistical. Who was he?  
"Who is that?" I point to the man on the left.  
"That's uncle Sherlock's best friend John." She spoke almost in a giggle. "He always gives me piggyback rides. I love John."  
"When was the last time you saw him?"  
"Not long ago. John and I went outside and had a snowball fight!"  
I tried to remember the last time it snowed.  
Last week? No two weeks ago? Three weeks ago.  
So. Sherlock and his friend were here without knowledge, why wasn't I informed? How did I not see them come inside? I'm always staring out the window, thinking. My time here was running thin. Very thin. And I unknowingly missed an opportunity to see him. Damn you Mycroft.  
"Why are you looking at pictures of Uncle Sherlock?"  
I glanced back over to the picture.  
"Because that is-"  
Footsteps came towards the room from the hallway and interrupted me. "Adalynn dear, Daddy has to go out for a bit. So I need you to-" he stopped talking once he entered her room, discovering us. "Roman?"  
"Daddy look! Roman and me are looking at pictures of Uncle Sherlock and John." She turned the laptop from my hands.  
I had nothing to be guilty of, I wasn't doing anything wrong, but I felt embarrassed and caught red-handed for my curiosity.  
"Oh! Doing some research are you Mr. Adler?" His voice was deep, yet playful.  
No reply came from me.  
"When can Roman meet Uncle Sherlock and John?" Adalynn laughed.  
Mycroft gave a weak laugh. "Soon."  
My eyes narrowed on his. "How soon Mycroft?"  
I tried to make a dramatic effect by being so serious with Mycroft about meeting Sherlock, but instead, he rolled his eyes, placed his hands in his pocket, and looked like he was thinking deeply. Really, I knew he wasn't.  
"Can we agree two weeks from now?"  
His proposal would have to do. There was little sense in fighting about it.  
"Fine."  
Mycroft put back on his happy father face.  
"Well. Adalynn, I have to go out for a bit. Anthea should be in here too soon to get you dressed. You and her are going out for ice cream. How does that sound?" He smiled at her.  
I felt her whole body light up shades of pink. She was super excited and my eyes were super burning.  
"Yay! ...Wait, can Roman come?" She questioned.  
I don't want to go.  
"No, I'm afraid not. My friend Doctor Cyril has to see him."  
"Oh. Okay!" She pulled herself up from my lap, and her warmth on my chest and legs left as well.  
"He'll be here in a hour to see you."  
I nodded, collecting my laptop and myself.  
Anthea came strolling into the room nonchalantly, like she always did. Her cell phone in her hand and her head glued to it. She was always on her phone. I didn’t know how she wasn't blind. What was so interesting about it?  
"Anthea, dear." Mycroft took the phone.  
Anthea was used to the fact that once she entered the same room as Mycroft, her phone was always taken away. Cause and effect. Not looking at Mycroft, she went over to Adalynn and took her by the hand, giving her a small grin. "Ready to get some ice cream?"  
"Yeah!" Adalynn grasped Anthea's hand, jumping around.  
It happened again. Once Anthea and Adalynn passed Mycroft, who was leaning against the door smiling at them, their ore changed colors. It was that damn shade of red again. The deep red I saw when I first saw them together. Time slowed as I gazed upon them. What did it mean? Damn I needed to know. Once they were out of sight, Mycroft’s aura, without any restraint, went back to silver. They had to have some type of connection.  
"Why does Cyril need to see me?"  
"To go over the expectations."  
…  
Here I was again, in the same room I first met Doctor Cyril in. It remained the same as last time. And just like last time, he walked in right on cue, bringing his blinding yellow ore and cheesy smile with him.  
"Evening, Mr. Adler. How are we?"  
"Why am I here?"  
He took the same seat, once again across from me. He looked no different from last time either. His face was still playing some game I didn't know the rules of. By the end of the meetings, I always wasn't sure who was the winner or loser.  
"To inform you of the expectations you are required to meet."  
"What expectations?"  
Looking intently into his eyes, I tried to read the answer inside them before he told me.  
"The expectations on meeting your father. Mycroft told me you and him agreed to two weeks from now?"  
I honestly don't think it was a agreement.  
"Since Mycroft is busy today I'm going to be the one to go over the rules and guidelines."  
I nodded, wanting to know more.  
"The reason for the painful cramming of information you've been practicing for the past couple months is to prepare you for Sherlock's intelligence and intolerable ignorance. Also, to be smarter is not a bad thing, correct?" That sounded more like a rhetorical question. "Now Sherlock will not right off know who you are, why you are existing, or what your intentions are, but within oh I don't know…two minutes? He's not as quick as he use to be. But he'll figure it out."  
"Alright." I nodded.  
"You job is to keep calm no matter what his reaction is. You are not to speak unless you are spoken too. Do not speak of your life prior to that moment. Do not show any emotion really." He seemed even a little puzzled by that one.  
"Everyone is making him out to be this dangerous monster."  
"In a way Mr. Adler, he is. Sherlock's reaction to you could be calm or it could be rather violent. He remembers your mother only by the name ‘The Women’. Having a child with her probably wasn't something he intended to happen. He's strong but very weak at the same time."  
I sighed. "I'm aware of my poor planning."  
Doctor Cyril couldn't say anything. He frankly look uncomfortable.  
"Anything else?" I asked.  
He bounced his leg, nervous habit, trying to think.  
"Be ready to expect anything. Truthfully."  
"What if Sherlock doesn't want anything to do with me?" I asked.  
It seemed like a suitable question.  
He shrugged. "That's up to Mycroft."  
I didn't like how this conversation was going. Meeting Sherlock was basically like trying to catch a wild dog. Be prepared for anything. Even him biting me. My future was up in the air. I hated that.  
The doctor tried to cut some of tension resonating off of me by changing the subject.  
"I heard you looked up some information on your father. Even a picture. Tell me about that?"  
I furrowed my brow at the thought, trying to recall the information I gathered on him earlier. I was having difficulties. I read so much that I wasn’t totally sure I actually retained the readings.  
"He solves a lot of crimes."  
It was simply put.  
"Yes. He’s very good at it."  
"And he's not even a legal detective, but the cops go to him anyway when they get stuck." I wasn't sure if that was even right.  
"A consulting detective he calls himself. First one ever in my day." He chuckled.  
Consulting detective.  
I looked at the table, deep in thought, trying to discover more data.  
"Sociopath." The words left my mouth before I could actually comprehend them.  
Doctor Cyril did not reply instantly. He just looked back at me, gaping. "Your father is a high functioning sociopath as well as having High-Functioning Autism (HFA)."  
I knew I was right about that.  
"I'm obviously neither one of those things. So what am I?"  
"Well, you aren't a sociopath." He licked his lips. "Not yet...and the autism, I'm coming to the conclusion that you have PDD-NOS."  
"What's that?"  
"PDD-NOS stands for Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified. Sometimes people use the term ‘Pervasive Developmental Disorders’”. I looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "It really just means you have a form of autism that's not exactly affecting you too much, but you are not with the average."  
He folded his fingers into prayer style, his breathing was so calm. I could hardly see his chest inhale, exhale, inhale.  
"You also looked at pictures of Sherlock. How was that?"  
He changed the subject again. He wasn't allowing me too much time to think about about diagnoses. Maybe he wasn't even right, just trying to compare me to my father as much as he could.  
"I look like him. Besides the hair." I ran my hands through my untamed hair.  
He nodded.  
"Also saw his friend John."  
Doctor Cyril raised a brow at me, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands over his chest. He seemed so relaxed, yet the constant bouncing of his leg showed he was a bit nervous.  
"Yes John, his company. He's been around for quite some time."  
I saw John and Sherlock inside my head. Standing side by side, closely. Their relationship, I questioned.  
"Are they...like gay together?" My voice was almost a whisper.  
The words were already out of my mouth before I could take them back. I probably should not have asked something like that. It wasn't my business. The room broke. The walls fell and crumbled to pieces along with the floor.  
"John is married and has children....we don't know."  
Unconsciously I created an image of Sherlock and John, just them. Everything else was black. Both pinning each against a nonexistent object. Their bodies crashing into each other, with their lips romantically, passionately locked together. Bracing into an erotic kiss. Interesting.  
Stop Roman, you're gross.  
We both sat there awkwardly.  
"Well! Mr. Adler, it was good to see you again. Do not forget what I told you. Expect anything." He stood up from his chair and began to walk to the door.  
Oh no.  
Panic shot through me, impaling me with anxiety. I just remembered that I wanted to somehow, someway bring up my ability to see colors, auras around people. This was my only time to act.  
"No wait!" I spat, "I, well. I can see... colors."  
He turned on his heels and walked back to the table. Hovering over me.  
I think I just insulted him.  
"What do you mean?" He glared at me deeply.  
I gave no reply. I couldn't speak anymore.  
"You see colors? What do you mean Mr. Adler?"   
"When I look at people have they colors, coming out of them." I did not look at him.  
"What color are they?"  
"It just depends on the person." I think I was shaking. "Mycroft's is this dull, lead silver. Adalynn, a destructive pain pink. When I look at it I want to puke...and yours is odd enough, yellow."  
He nodded. "How long have you seen these auras?"  
"As long as I can remember. Growing up, I loved it. The world was filled with color. But now I just want know what it means."  
"Maybe this is your heightened sense that we talked about last time,” he said guardedly.   
"Okay, but it's not very useful. My father can remember almost anything and I see color radiating off people."  
He shrugged.  
"Like when Mycroft, Anthea, and Adalynn are together, their auras change from silver, pink, and a maybe olive green, to bright fucking red. I don't know why. I'm coming to the conclusion it's some connection."  
I began to rub my temples in frustration. I wanted to figure out the connection was. I had to.  
"Do not tell Mycroft I told you. I think I know the connection." He paused briefly. Hesitating to say another word, his mouth looked dry. Too nervous to continue on. "Anthea is Adalynn’s mother."  
It was like a bomb dropped on me. Disintegrating me to nothing.  
"That's it! They’re connected by Adalynn! Of course. But wait..."  
"Adalynn thinks her mother's dead, yes." Doctor Cyril sighed, cutting me off.  
"Why?"  
That was a cruel thing for a child to know. But then again, it was an ironic repeat of my life.  
"When... Mycroft found out Anthea was pregnant, he wanted to abort. He thought of himself to be too old to care for a child and far too busy." His body melted against the table, he looked down. "I'm so glad Mycroft decided to not to. There was honestly no way I could abort a Holmes child."  
"He was going to abort her?" I was shocked.  
"Yes. You and Adalynn share a common come about."  
Mycroft, from the moment I saw Adalynn in his arms, I would have never thought that he'd ever want to put an end to her life. He loved her more than anything.  
My mother probably did the same thing.  
"So punish Anthea by forcing her basically nanny Adalynn?"  
He had a remorseful look.  
"So when they are all together because of the child. Their auras change as a family reflection," I added.  
I quickly scanned my mind to confirm that that was the right answer. I'm sure it was.  
"See, Mr. Adler you gift has some use. And I'm sure if you dive further into it, study it, you may find its true meaning." He smiled at me.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Roman's ability might have a some use after all! Like it? Like me know! PLEASE *^* I did A LOT of foreshadowing in this chapter. Hint, hint. Join me next week: Chapter 9: The Murder and The Tortured Some more bonding time with Adalynn. (Yay!) Someone pays Roman's a visit... WHO WILL IT BE? SHERLOCK? Maybe. The chapter title should give some give-away of what's to be expected! See you next Monday guys!


	9. Chapter 9: The Murder and The Tortured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is running out of time to meet his father. When Mycroft surprises him with a visitor, everything changes forever.

Chapter 9: The Murder and The Tortured  
After my visit with Doctor Cyril, I took what he said into consideration. I started looking at my ability to see auras around people as a gift rather than a curse. Seeing the auras had to mean something right? Other than maybe a possible reflection of human personalities. The brighter the aura, the happier the person. That would explain Adalynn's coral, nearly neon pink that blinded me. And maybe it explained Doctor Cyril's sun kissed yellow ore. He seemed like a happy guy, easy going. But Mycroft, Anthea and my father’s aura, or at least the aura I imagined, were a bit dim. They were serious people, maybe even unhappy.  
Growing up, seeing all these colors burst out of people of all ages was breathtaking. Being in public was an adventure for me. Every color of the rainbow hit me. I didn't question that it wasn't normal to see these colors radiating off people until I got old enough to realize no one else saw them. I never told anymore, not even my mother. I was fine being different. But when it was started to cause my headaches, emotional overloads, and when I went to school where people talked, moved, and acted like animals I blacked out. I felt like I was losing control of my surroundings and myself; I wasn't safe. I tried to separate myself but that was impossible at public school. It only happened about two or three times a year, normally around lunch time.  
Now I had a greater understanding, and this aura visual ability would maybe come in handy one day.  
Adalynn spent more time with me ever since I sat in her room with her to do some research. That moment stuck with her. It also meant that I was her new play toy. She'd come in my room at any moment of the day just to tell me stories I couldn't remember by the time she finished. She showed me all her toys and told me stories about them. I was barely paying attention. I do however, remember her favorite toy she received from Sherlock. It was a stuffed animal, a bear with the UK flag stitched at the feet. You could obviously see it was something simply picked up from a gift shop, given very little thought. Predictable. I was only interested in it for a moment because it was from my father but I quickly lost that captivation. When Adalynn offered to give it to me, it drew my attention back in.  
"Here Roman, you can have it." I looked at her cluelessly. "You've never met Uncle Sherlock and I know you really want to."  
I'm not really sure how meeting my father and this child’s toy connect, but alright.  
"It's yours Adalynn."  
"It's yours now. I don't see Uncle Sherlock a lot, I don't think he likes me." Her voice was sorrowful.  
"He does. He's just busy."  
I had to lie.  
"I know. But you have it. To see him even a little is enough, you haven't seen him at all." She pushed the stuffed bear into my hands.  
I held the tender bear in my arms and stared at it. Only being six, she already got the idea that she could annoy people and that not everyone was going to like her. People were heartless and not everyone was going to be her friend.  
Good for her.  
…  
"Mr. Adler."  
I heard my name being called. My mind and body would not comply. Instead I laid there limp, like a rock. Maybe it wasn't anything, just in my head.  
"Mr. Adler."  
There it was again? It had to be someone trying to get my attention. Wake up.  
I opened my eyes to see a blurry black and grey figure in my view. I blinked several times before I could make a clear picture out of the figure calling my name.  
It was Mycroft.  
He was positioned right beside my bed, looking down at me. He had little expression on his face but I could see he felt uncomfortable waking me up.  
"What?"  
I tried to sit up but a heavy weight pushed against me, it forced me back against the bed. I peered down to see what it was: Adalynn. She was laying on top of me deep in sleep. That's right, her and I were laying in bed (well more like I was laying in bed thinking, and she came along, claiming her spot beside me). We must have fallen asleep in the silence. Now I woke with her on top of me, her head buried in my chest, perfectly curled into my body. I could plainly smell her topical shampoo and powerful scent.  
"Don't wake her," he whispered.  
"What do you need?"  
"Come with me."  
I wasn't sure how I was going to do that without waking Adalynn. I organized a plan without any help from Mycroft. I hoped it would work. I put my arms around her tiny, limp body and held her against me, then rolled her to my left onto her back. It worked. She only mumbled a couple of intelligible words and continued to sleep. I cautiously climbed out of bed, stumbling to my feet.  
Mycroft and I mutely toed out of the room. We dared not to wake the princess. Standing out in the hallway, I was curious to see where he was going to take me.  
"I have someone here I think you'd like to meet." He had a meek smile on his face.  
I gave a smile back as we started walking down the hallway to the person in question.   
Sherlock? Hopefully.  
As soon as that thought came inside my head, I began to get nervous. I fiddled with my hair, making it look less messy than usual. Straightened up my clothing, good thing I got dressed today. I wanted to look like I'd been preparing for this for awhile now. And truly I was, mentally. But with this short notice, I was scattered for the right words to say. I was currently mentally preparing myself to see Sherlock standing in the living room, the fireplace roaring, his skin pale as usual. He'd be more aged by now than the pictures I saw. I guessed he'd still have that long overcoat I saw him wearing in many pictures. I wondered if he'd smell the way I thought he would, smoke and lemon tea. Lord, my stomach was fluttering.  
I kept my head down in high hopes, that when I looked up I'd be welcomed and surprised. When we entered the living room and I looked up, boy was I surprised.  
"Mr. Hearlty? What are you doing here?" Mycroft's asked.   
Oh my god.  
It wasn't Sherlock.  
I backed up slowly, beyond alarmed. My body temperature dropped fifty degrees. I was frozen against the wall. An ice sculpture, scared stone cold. This wasn't happening. He shouldn't be back for another two weeks. Plus, Mycroft requested for an extension. I suppressed the thought of him even coming back. Mycroft promised I'd never see him again. Oh god, no, please don't let him take me. My heart was beating in my ears, I could barely hear Mycroft and his conversation.  
"You've failed to meet our agreement. Mr. Davis will be returning back to the States with me. Tonight." His words were cold.  
I shook my head repeatedly. I didn't want to hear this. I wasn't going with him. I couldn't. He'd hurt me again, breaking me into microscopic pieces. He would fucking abuse me again. Hell no!  
"I requested for an extension." Mycroft seemed taken aback.  
My. Heartly held up some papers. "Extension denied."  
His words were so sinister. Demonic with every syllable.  
What if this is all a trap? What if all this was planned? This is how it's going to end for me.  
The idea seemed feasible to run the scenario though my head. What if Mycroft knew all along that it was Mr. Heartly who I was supposed to see? He was playing dumb. This was all a trap. I wasn't smart enough, quick enough, socially impaired enough. I'd never be approved by my father or by this family. I tried so hard! Mycroft only had the intentions to rob me of my dreams to meet my father. Mr. Heartly only had the intentions to hurt me. Oh no. Neither of them said another word. Just stood there, waiting for me to act.  
"...No," I mumbled.  
I was freaking out on the inside. My heart was aching with pain. I could have a heart attack if were any older and unhealthier. My blood was rushing, I was light headed. I couldn't keep up with this. I was seeing doubles of everything in sight. My stomach was twirling inside me. A mixture of painful memories and rage brewing inside me. I couldn't do anything to stop it. Mycroft and Mr. Heartly stood there staring at me, casting their silent judgements. I would never be enough. Nonetheless, I wasn't leaving no matter who wanted me to or not. I wasn't going anywhere with that monster.  
I'd stepped out of my own body. I didn't know that was even possible.  
I knew this because I literally watched my body language change. The room burning of flames, I had set the whole room on fire, this moment in time was my deepest part of hell. The thing I feared the most right now, Mr. Heartly, was standing in front of me. He was trying to take me from this new life I'd succumb to. Mycroft was playing some sick joke on me. Like I actually had a chance to meet Sherlock. Of course not, I wasn't enough. Not enough. I knew this. I watched my terrified shocked face melt into a emotionless mold, mocking Mr. Heartly. My body loosened from the wall, and I stood on my own without any support. I wasn't me, Roman. I was the hollowed man he created inside myself. I, he was out, ready to do what he thought was necessary to stay alive.  
Before I knew it my legs were moving towards Mr. Heartly. I had no color in my eyes, just the blackness he formulated inside me. He and I were the same now, just two monsters in the shape of humans. Living like them but never exactly feeling like them. Having no human remorse, understanding. Absolutely, wholly soulless monsters. Not being the afraid boy he wanted me to be, but the monster he unintendedly constructed out of me.  
He's going to pay.  
I was only inches from him. Our bodies lined up almost perfectly. My eyes locked down onto his. No expression from either side. Hollowness. He killed everything inside me.  
I spoke in a whisper. But loud enough for him to hear, quite well. "Karma's a bitch."  
I didn’t even have time to understand what I just said to Mr. Heartly before I reached forward and pulled his gun from the holster. This was how I knew that Roman wasn't in control anymore. How could I even know he'd carry a gun with him? I knew he had one, but how did I know this very second he'd have it on him? He wasn't expecting any danger, until now. All I had left were assumptions. It happened all too fast. I took a step back from Mr. Heartly and aimed the gun at him.  
"Roman what are you doing?!" Mycroft called.  
I wasn't answering. This numb monster was holding the gun, harvesting my body. I didn't look away from Heartly. I remained on target. He was staring down the barrel of the gun I reached for when he violated me.  
I wondered if it was loaded.  
There was no fear in Mr. Heartly's eyes, he didn't see the potential death in front of him. He stood like he knew I wouldn't pull the trigger. And maybe I wouldn't. But after all he put me through, I wasn't sure on that. Unknowingly, I cocked my head to the side. His emotionless face soon broke when, oh fuck, I pulled back the hammer. The room's silence quietened even more. Everything stood still, even the air, the fire I saw died with lack of oxygen. No one breathed, no one moved, no one spoke. This numbness was in full control. His frozen face finally broke into sweats and a scared, panicked, horrified look took place. His eyes widened and his heartbeat was punching his neck. I could see it pulsing. Sweating, he seemed to be about ready to beg for forgiveness. Perfect. I wanted to see him on his knees crying and begging for mercy. God, that'd be marvelous.  
"Roman-" He began to speak.  
"Roman's dead," I said, cutting him off.  
And just like that it happened.  
Something that I'd have to live with for the rest of my life. Growing up, knowing I could never take it back, and sadly, I never wanted to. I never felt bad for what I did. A not so humane qualified justice. It'd be forever apart of who I am and what I was capable of. Judgement casted upon me from those who knew. It defined me for the longest time. When I thought about him, I thought about what did to him in return and I'd smile. This was what justice was. A new person was born when this happened, it was who I was for the rest of my life.  
I pulled the trigger.  
Ending his.  
Besides the sound of the echoing of the gunshot and the endless, loud, deafening ringing that followed, everything was dead. Mr. Heartly's body dropped with all his weight to the floor, crashing, bang. More blood started to pool around him from where I had shot him, the bullet went straight threw his head. Some of the impact blood was stained on me. I stared at his body on the floor, watching the blood drain from his lifeless body. He died with a scared glare on his face. Almost exactly like the abused and slaughtered face of me. It was my cue to fully return back inside my body. The numb monster was going back into hiding again. No one was there to support my body once this feeling left.  
I stepped/fell back into my body. My temperature was ice, my body stiff. Throbbing head pain from the ringing.  
Oh. God. What have I done?  
I blinked several times. My vision was blurring out. Once it came back into view I was staring down at Mr. Heartly’s body. Lifeless, dead body. I killed him. I took his gun and I killed him. I took his life. I killed him. I killed him. Oh god.  
I KILLED HIM!  
"-I..I k-killed..him," I mumbled.  
I was still holding the gun. I looked at, then rejected the gun. My hands shook as the gun fell onto the floor beside Mr. Heartly's body. I killed him.  
I shriveled, tensed up, my body shaking uncontrollably. I was in shock at what I did. I killed him. I started to cry. Not just weak tears, but bawling inconsolably. I couldn't believe what I had done. I turned to look at Mycroft. He came storming at me with panic and rage in his eyes. He grabbed my arms and shook me harder than I was shaking on my own.  
"What have you done?!" He screamed at me.  
"I'm sorry!" I called through all my sobbing.  
"You killed him!"  
He was right in my face.  
"I know! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"  
He grabbed my arm and started dragging me away from Heartly's body. He was nearly running, my legs where trembling too badly to walk properly.  
"Mycroft!" I yelped.  
We were going upstairs now. I should have known where we were going. I had walked this path hundreds of times, but being as scared as I was, I had lost sense of direction.  
He pushed me into a room, my room.  
"Stay in here! Do NOT come out!"  
"Don't leave me!" I begged.  
It was too late. He stormed back out, slamming the door forcefully, leaving me behind. I looked around, lost. Adalynn was gone. I was in this huge room by myself. What would happen to me? I would go to prison. Or maybe even killed. I didn't matter to anyone. I was nothing.  
Why Roman? Why?  
My legs gave out from under me. I collapsed to the floor, weeping. All I could do was cry. I killed someone. But it wasn't me, it was that numb monster who kill Mr. Heartly. Oh my god. Mycroft was going to kill me! I fucked up! I waited for that numbness to kick back in. That feeling I felt after what Mr. Heartly did to me. I prayed it would come back and everything would be okay. I wouldn't be able to feel anything. I could stop crying like a child and pull myself together, face all this without any emotion. When that feeling didn't return, I just got angry. I screamed, kept crying, and threw myself around. Eventually I got up on my feet and just like before, I destroyed my room. I don't know why in stressful and horrible times I destroy the things around me. Maybe to project a reflection of how I felt. I was a mess. I tore everything I worked for up. The books I read made their new place on the floor, the research papers of various subjects flew all over the room like white planes in the sky trying to shoot down King Kong. I tore the bedding off and threw it around like ashes to the flames. Yeah, I lost it again. I was screaming, shouting, crying, and hitting everything. It seemed to be in slow motion.  
I, Roman Adler/Davis killed a man. A man who deserved to die, but I couldn't believe that I was the guy to take his life. Now, I was going to go to prison or die. Whichever came first.  
…  
For almost a week straight, I didn't sleep, eat, bathe, or talk to anyone. I wasn't allowed. Mycroft locked my room from the outside. Instead, I cried, destroying everything until it was in pieces that couldn't be fixed, much like my sanity. I wasn't losing it because Mr. Heartly was dead anymore. I itched like a caged animal because I was the chosen one to kill him, now my destiny was unknown. That was what made me tick. I scared people. I scared myself. I never really knew my potential until I did the worst thing imaginable. Kill a man.  
At least once a day, I went on my rampage to ruin the remains of what I had already demolished. I communicated with myself. I had done flew over the cuckoo's nest. No one understood my pain. I was a monster.  
Today I was in the middle of one of my unmanageable, disobedient fits. It felt good to release the anger inside me, held for so long. I had forgotten for a while what it even felt like to feel vexation and rage. I cried quietly and tore anything and everything up.  
Under all my chaos, the door opened. Mycroft stepped in not even glancing at the mess I made.  
"Mr. Adler!" He called, putting his hands behind his back.  
I stopped, not looking at him, too emotionally raw to look at his disappointment.  
"I'm sorry," I spat.  
"I know."  
"I've ruined everything."  
He hesitated. "...Why did you do it?"  
I still could not look at him. I did not respond. I couldn't tell him what he did to me. It would be no excuse to him.  
"I'm sending you somewhere to calm down. You're too much of a danger to my staff, my family, and yourself."  
I swung around and looked at him, wide-eyed, afraid. "NO! I'm sorry Mycroft! Please don't."  
"I'm sorry too." He walked out of the room, leaving the door open.  
My eyes didn't leave the sight of the door. He left it open for a reason. I was a deer in the headlights when two men dressed in white entered. Oh fuck. I'm going to an asylum.  
I'm not crazy, just emotionally fucked up right now. I don't need a asylum. I'm not crazy!  
"No." I shook my head and backed up. "NO!"  
They approached me carefully. Crazy and dangerous was how they saw me. I was no longer a person, but a psycopath, I finally cracked.  
I back myself up against a wall, fuck. They kept coming at me. "No! Please no!" I cried.  
One of the men in white grabbed my arm, pulling inside a restraining choke hold. I fought back, kicking my feet at the other guy. If I was going down I would go down swinging. Suddenly, I felt a stinging pinch on my neck. My body was starting to get heavy. My muscles were becoming lax, I could no longer fight them back. My vision was fading out, brain activity was slowing. It felt like I wasn't breathing, like I was deprived of oxygen. I couldn’t see, hear, feel or think anymore.  
This is the end.  
…  
Ahh. My head.  
My head was throbbing. Pounding in my skull.  
I opened my eyes, only for them slam back shut from a shining, white, bright light. I held my hand over my face and sat up. My neck was sore, my head hurt, and everything stung. The air was cold, very, very, cold. I choked on it when I noticed. It smelt like bleach. Everything was itchy, white, clean, and so fucking bright. My eyes adjusted slowly and details of the small room started trickling in. A rather large reflecting silver door was bolted in front of me, the wall was made of white brick. There were four walls, four corners, and a cotton mat with me on it in the center of it all.  
I wouldn't ask where I was because I knew where I was: an asylum. Just like Mycroft threatened. Here I was.  
I pulled myself up, lost my footing, and fell down. I was so dizzy. I got back up and crashed against a wall. I wasn't wearing any shoes or socks. In fact, I wasn't even in my own clothes. White, thin pants and a white t-shirt to match. Fuck.  
I gradually started to recall the events leading up to this very moment. I woke up, Mycroft took me to see Mr. Heartly, he tried to take me back to the States, I took his gun and killed him, then I was locked in my room for a week and had ravenous mental breakdowns. I couldn't cope, nor process it. Now, it was quite clear, I belonged in this asylum. I couldn't cope with my mother's death correctly, I changed into a completely different person to please someone that I would now never meet. The change wasn't bad though, I unlocked knowledge I would never otherwise know, and I became a part of something better than I had planned for myself originally. But in the midst of it all, I ended up killing a man, the very man who destroyed the innocence inside me. This was that was left for me.  
"Mr. Adler! You’re up! How are we feeling?" Doctor Cyril came rushing through the door in a doctor's coat and a clip board. Normally he wore slacks and a button up, but now he looked as more professional than usual.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Well, I'm your doctor."  
I questioned his placement.  
He's an asylum doctor too?  
"Where's Mycroft?"  
"Not here. You are in Ashworth Hospital."  
"Why am I here?" I knew the answer to that.  
"In the past six months you have had two psychotic breakdowns."  
"You've been keeping tabs on me, even before I came to England?" I questioned.  
"Yes. For the past three or four years we have."  
Four years they've kept track of me? Mycroft knew about my existence longer than the time spanning from my mother’s death to now. Something wasn't right.  
"How long am I going to be here?"  
Thank god for his overly annoying bright yellow ore, the white was starting to make me sick.  
"That's up to Mycroft and your behavior."  
All I could do was nod. I had no power in any of this. I didn't want to be here any longer than I had to be.  
"What about Mr. Hea-"  
"MR. ADLER." His voice rattled my ears, stopping me in mid sentence. "As far as this hospital is concerned, you are here for psychotic mental breakdowns... and that is it."  
The last few words didn't make sense to me. I looked at him with great confusion.  
"Mr. Heartly's whereabouts are not the problem here. Your mental status is."   
I could only stare at him.  
Oh I get it.  
I finally was caught up with this game.  
"Okay."  
"Now." He smiled. "If you would come with me, please."  
He held the door open and waited for me to exit.  
Barely walking, I stepped into a long hallway extending endlessly in both directions. The walls were blue, bare, and depressing.  
"Where we are going?"  
Doctor Cyril started walking down the right hallway, leaving me behind. I followed him but lagged behind.  
"Remember those auras you told me about?" His accent made it seem like less of a question.  
"...Yes."  
He did not reply, we just kept moving. His coat swayed side to side with every step he took. The length of his coat blinded my vision from anything in from of me. Before I knew it, a door was opening, nearly hitting me. Doctor Cyril disappeared behind the door. I chased him.  
It was just another white room with the same four walls and corners. The only difference was that a rather wide white tank was there. It was only half my size in height. I had never seen anything like this before. It looked futuristic, making a silent humming sound. A pod, that was what it made me think of. Some type of pod.  
The same two men in white that took me from Mycroft's entered the room without any notice. I felt unnervingly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to get another needle stuck in my neck. I stood closer to Doctor Cyril.  
"This is a sensory deprivation tank." He patted the top. "I'm going to put you in here for about an hour. You will completely deprived of all your senses."  
I swallowed hard and choked trying to talk. "Why do I..."  
"To calm you down of course." He smiled.  
I did not like the idea of this.  
"I don't want to."  
"Too bad." He stepped aside from the tank, opening the door, revealing a pitch black entrance.  
I began to back up. The two men in white grabbed my arms, lifting me off the ground and carrying me over to the tank.  
"NO! I don't want to!" I began to kick.  
I was shoved in head first, and the rest of my body followed without much of a fight. Water splashed around, I could feel the thickness of salt splashing around. I motioned towards the door, ripping through the water.  
"Let me out please! Doctor Cyril!"  
Doctor Cyril appeared at the exit. I couldn't see him, just his yellow aura shining in. "Relax Mr. Adler. This isn't meant to be a stressful experience. I'm testing your reaction to sensory deprivation. If you recalled to be able to see ‘auras’ orbiting people, this test should eliminate that. I ran this test on your father years ago." his voice was thick, echoing buzz. I felt around, looking for an escape in a mild panic.  
"How'd he react?!"  
"Not good. But he no longer saw auras around people."  
Oh fuck no.  
The door closed and locked. I was left in darkness. Everything was black and I saw, heard, and felt nothing but the warm water. I pounded on the manically. "Let me out!" I knew I was saying words, I could feel them, but I couldn't hear them. Everything was pure silence. My senses were done. I was a nonconscious thing in a spaceless tank of warm water.  
Oh no.  
~~Roman is feeling/hearing things that don't exist right here~~~  
I hit the sides of the tank as hard as I could. I couldn't even hear the impact of the punch. Suddenly, I felt something touch my foot. I pulled it away. Scared, I tried to look around for someone. Nothing. Something touched my arm, then my back, it pulled my hair back as I fell into the water. My arms were pinned down it was grabbing my legs, pulling me down deeper into the water. Make it stop. Who was holding me down? I began to hear faint whispers. They got louder the more I stayed still to hear them.  
"What have you done?!" Mycroft  
"You ungrateful bastard!" Mr. Heartly.  
"Roman! Save me! Roman!" My mother.  
"You disgrace!" Sherlock.  
I held my ears, trying to block them out.  
Make it stop please make it stop!  
"MURDERER!" They all screamed at once.  
"MAKE IT STOP!"  
The whispers evolved into bleeding screaming, I couldn't hear my own screams, just theirs. Killing me, mocking me, and depriving me of everything I felt. I was nothing.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't expecting that, huh? PLOT TWIST BRO. Review, follow, favorite please! I love it. Just like you guys! Hope you aren't too mad at me. xD Roman's going to be okay. Next Monday: Chapter 10: The Release and The Wealth. I'm not going to do Roman's time in the asylum, it's not very interesting, just a lot of bad therapy and staring out windows like a zombie. But Roman is a little older, wiser and darker. Maybe suffering from a strange addiction? :O oh my! The truth behind his mother's death is revealed! All and this more next Monday! Have a great day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanation: Alright so this technically is part two of my little story. A lot has changed, kinda. Roman is older and changed. By changed I mean he's more intelligent and thinking externally rather than internally. He's all about defiance. I decided to post this early because I couldn't wait! Haha I'm currently writing chapter 20. It's great! Yea, I know I'm way ahead of all you guys. But I need to be. Sadly, my motivation for this story is decreasing... I need your love and support. Please let me know how you like the story. Thank you, enjoy.  
> Little Summary: It's been over a year now Roman's been in Ashworth Mental Hospital and they're finally letting him go. Roman is a changed person, but is it for the better? How cynical could Roman be? Some flirting, some remembering and some discovering! Roman learns more about him mother even after HER DEATH! How'd she die? Why? What for? What did she leave behind? Mycroft knows all but doesn't tell all. Lastly, mentioned throughout the chapter: hint! Roman has an unsightly addiction and he loves it.

Chapter 10: The Release and The Wealth.  
"Mr. Adler."  
"Yes?"  
"Come with me. You are going home."  
Home - the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.  
I wasn't confident on how much time had passed since I'd ever been "home". It felt like centuries considering I couldn't remember the feeling, the sound, the smell, the means of home. Arguably, I knew it was actually about two years. Two years since I'd been home back in America with my mother, who was now gone. That was my home. Ever since her death, I couldn’t remember a place I really could call home. Such a mortification.  
Two years ago, I began an adventure to find my father who was located in the UK. During my transaction to coming to London, England, I was placed with middle aged man who was an unsympathetic, blatant, arrogant prick who harassed me for a month and a half. I manically killed him six months later in some psychotic nervous breakdown. When I came to England, I was placed on a pedestal I knew I'd never be able to live up to. In a six month period I tripled my IQ, discovered I was autistic, and became socially impaired. My father, a man I'd never live up to but forced to facsimile, which was impossible as each human being is not a copy of each other. What would be the purpose of a single soul? Maybe I no longer had one. I unearthed that I was worthless to the Holmes family, and I'd be now out of the picture. I could not meet their expectations, and as time passed, I learned to expect, embrace, and enjoy that I was no longer a puppet, hanging motionlessly from the strings of its master.  
In the two year period, I was destroyed, molded, and reborn from a oblivious, ignorant child to a potentially unpredictable and calamitous young adult. I had a true understanding of my standpoint in this world, I was nothing. Nothing less than disgraced waste like rubbish on the side of the road, corrupting a beautiful picture of highway. That highway being the Holmes name. Comprehensive of my ancestral existence. Dead.  
I remained in Ashworth Hospital and served my sentence as well behaved as I could be, well tried. During my residency, I undergoed numerous type of testing, treatment, therapy, and medications. Those weren't important anymore since I was going home, correct? I was placed on antidepressants (apparently my sorgentone levels were low.) I guess my enthusiastic attitude about being in a asylum wasn't as high as they expected. I was also prescribed heavy formulated sleeping pills because I no longer slept. I felt no need to sleep. I had other things to do. My body could run on four hours of on and off sleep a day. My battle with the sensory deprivation tank played a key role in my inability to sleep. When I tried, all I heard was loud whispers, flowing warm water, and something grabbing me from my attempt to sleep.  
In addition, I was placed on a medication to help with my stress levels, letting my emotionally overwhelming, slow, and weekly panic attacks be treated. Strangely, that quickly led to create something more than just queerness and misfortunate inside me. I was hormonally inhuman. Once Doctor Cyril realized the medication was causing my shameless, erotic behaviors I was taken off the it. The problem on the other hand, got worse. The medication permanently made a home within me. Induced or not, I begged, pleaded for this release. My morals were nothing but handfuls of sand slipping through my fingers, I would do anything.  
This new dependency was extraordinary. Flowing through my shakened veins, drowning into oceans of stimulation and clemency. I chased this high as often as I could, day or night, morning or night. I urinated for my fix. I became a dispute for the staff, getting many of them fired, resigning, or coming back for more. I played a card to this surrender, while they became addiction to my performance and gambling game. There was no cure, no remedy that could tame me. Nothing existed of equal value but the actual thing. I craved it uncontrollably.  
The memories of Mr. Heartly were repressed successfully. I no longer had emotional breakdowns when I thought about the time I took his life. I internally made the decision that taking his life was the best option and necessary. It was immoral, but ultimately good. I was positive that I wasn't his only victim, and if I hadn't done anything to stop him there would be others. I saw myself doing a favor for the world. Exterminating a human whose birth given right to breathe stopped the day I pulled the trigger. Without a proper punishment, other than mental institutionalized treatment, I was never taken to court, tried, or sentenced. By the way Doctor Cyril went about it, I was conditioned to believe it never happened. I was okay with that.  
Sometimes though, I wondered what had happened to him. His body. And how Mycroft was able to do it. Letting me get away with the murder of a federal officer. None of it mattered now. Time had passed and I changed. I enjoyed this change. I continued to learn about anything that I found interesting. Rarely, but it did happen when I read deeper into my father's life when granted computer time. I still wanted to meet him sometime. Within two years, I faced every possible demon but him, Sherlock Holmes, the biggest and scariest demon I ever had.  
Two years. A month and half with a now dead man. Six months with my uncle and his riches. A year and perhaps a half year in Ashworth Mental Hospital. Damn.  
I found myself looking in the mirror.  
They were letting me out. I was finally out of Ashworth Hospital. I rehabilitated to them. I was rehabilitated, no reborn to myself. When I looked inside that mirror, I thought of how I looked before I came here: scared, lost, and miserable. Now, I looked intelligent, smug, and quite pompous. Changed inside and out. The boy I was before Ashworth was dead compared to the man I was now. I felt taller, more filled out, my voice felt deeper and carried more meaning. My body language became a game to people, never knowing what I would do next. My mind extended in ways I created. Open-minded.  
Surprisingly, yet disappointingly, the sensory deprivation tank did not take my ability to see auras in people away. Doctor Cyril's treatment did not work. I never told him that. No more treatments. Being in here, I invented a new me with an unremovable hint of the past.  
I was wearing dress clothes. No more sweatpants, t-shirts, bathrobes, or sweaters. Finally some fabric other than itchy cotton. Black dress shoes, right size of ten. Tan khaki pants, slim fit (just how I like them except not black), a black button up with a navy blue cardigan to go on top of it. A cardigan wasn't something I went for, but I didn't care. I felt human, I wore clothes that expressed meaning, style, and personality. Just how I liked it too before. I ran my hands through my hair, it had gotten long, only gliding past my ear but the curls didn't appear like they normally did. Chemicals and medications dissolved the beauty. Now, my hair, just rugged waves, rolled over my dark brown. The shaggy look was back, mixed with a wavy gentlemen's cut. I felt like my old self, kinda.  
"You look good." A voice sweetened me. It was Doctor Cyril.  
"Thanks." I straightened myself up.  
He was holding a bottle of pills.  
"Here. Take these every night before bed."  
"What for?"  
"Sleeping."  
I took the bottle of pills, studied the contents, and then placed it in my pocket.  
"Why are you letting me go?"  
He stuttered. "T-there is no reason to keep you here."  
"I'm socially acceptable?" I laughed sarcastically.  
"You can always come back." He smiled.  
I was sure I'd never return. My time here was shaping me in the long run, but everything in between was a living hell. I really should just forget about Ashworth.  
I pulled on the black overcoat I was given. It was soft, making me feel warm. I fixed it to conform with my body. I didn’t remember having clothes like this.  
"All set?" Doctor Cyril asked.  
I nodded and followed him to front door.  
Doctor Cyril opened the door for me, exposing me to the outside world, a world I wasn't welcome to. A world without white walls and itchy jumpers. The cold air rushed inside, spiriting through me. My lungs instantaneously filled with the spiky cold air. It hurt and I loved it. When it hit my face, it burned, I wanted to feel more. I couldn't remember the last time I actually breathed in fresh air. It felt good.  
This was a new start for me.  
I was pleased by this thought. I was old enough to take care of myself, live my life that way I wanted to. No more cramming learning material, medications, tubes or gonads. I was free to make my own choices and be who I wanted to be. Interesting.  
But...I had no where to go.  
Reality fell around me. Not being more than five minutes outside, I was already thinking about turning around and going back. I was homeless, jobless, broke, and fresh out of an asylum. Since Mycroft was the one who sent me here because of my deranged mental breakdowns even before the murder of Mr. Heartly, I assumed he wanted nothing to do with me. I was really on my own. Could I conform?  
Sherlock - My father.  
I was sure I could ask around, get some directions. If Mycroft wasn't going to help me, I was just going to have to help myself. The worse my own father could tell me was that he despised me, that I was a mistake and wanted nothing to do with me. So, nothing I haven't heard before. It was worth a shot.  
I took my first steps to a better life. Putting one foot in front of the other. I ate every part of England up. Sinking in my better sensory information. The cold air, race traffic, the breathing buildings, careless people and their gaping auras. I kept to myself, pushing past people. It was the most human life I had been around in a long time. I felt smothered, pushed away, and abused from their action careless.  
I hunched down into my coat, walking aimlessly.  
I just happened to look up from the ground for a second. In the distance stood Anthea, I knew it was her. Her trademark olive green aura filled up my field of vision. As always, her face was buried in her phone; her beautiful self was leaning against a clear black jaguar. Anthea was dressed in a black, long-sleeve, form fitting dress and heels. She nearly blended in with the car.  
I unknowingly walked right up to her. What was I even going to say to her? I had no place in the Holmes family. And definitely no business talking to Anthea.  
"Anthea? How is-..."  
She glanced up from her phone and cut me off. "Mr. Adler. Right on time." I looked at her blankly. "Get in. Mycroft needs to see you."  
"What for?"  
"Get in." She held the door open, waiting impatiently.  
Well it wasn't like I had much else to do. No where to go. I might as well go.  
Anthea got in on the other side. We then headed to our destination. She sat there, looking very tempting to touch. She was beautiful. Her lengthy legs were longer than her small, tight black dress. She was attractive in my eyes, even being older than me. But that damn phone she lost herself in made her look ugly and hunched over. It had to go. I needed her attention away from it.  
When I looked at Anthea, I wondered what all her sadness was all about. She always put on a good show for Adalynn. I couldn't understand her pain. The pain of having your boss’s child, only to never have her call you mommy. She was nothing but a nanny. Did she love Mycroft? To cope with those troubles she buried herself in smart technology.  
"How is Adalynn?" I started off.  
I did happen to think of Adalynn often when I was in the asylum. She gave a good insight of what it took to be a big brother and someone's friend. Even though she was almost a decade younger than me, I felt at some levels, she understood me. She enjoyed my existence, she loved to be around me, and she made me feel needed. Sleeping was never cold and empty with her beside me. Without me she was lonely, just like I was? So really, how was she? I missed her a lot. Did she miss me?  
"Fine." Anthea did not remove her eyes from the phone.  
Exasperated, I stared at her. Still she did not move.  
"Anthea," I said softly. Reaching for her cell, I took it from her grip, setting it down next to me. She looked at me, offended, but she wasn't going to do anything about it. "How is she?"  
She sighed melancholily. "She's fine. Give my mobile back."  
"No, I'm talking to you."  
"Adalynn is good. She's happy and misses you."  
Just what I wanted to hear.  
"How are you?" I asked.  
"I'm okay."  
She of course seemed like she didn't want to talk, but too bad. I did. I stared intently into her blue eyes. She never looked happy. Such waste of such pretty skin.  
"You look alluring this evening." I gave her a smile.  
I could tell she was holding back a returned smile.  
"Thank you, Mr. Adler."  
I kept my eyes on hers, giving a mysterious smile. Maybe before we go to Mycroft's, I could make her look beautiful inside and out. She needed to reminded of her beauty and I was sure Mycroft did an awful job of that.  
"That dress makes you look divine."  
There was her smile. Soft, with straight white teeth... I was getting to her so easily. Her cheeks turned pink.  
"Thank you."  
Before I could say anything else, the car came to a complete stop.  
"Just go up to the house. Have a good evening Mr. Adler," she instructed.  
Feeling defeated by the short car travel time, I got out of the car, slunking myself around.  
This wasn't Mycroft's house. I stood helplessly in front of an old, empty, and frankly creepy house. I had never seen it before. It wasn't as grand as Mycroft's house, being only two stories tall with a castle style to it rather than a modern English one like Mycroft's. Dead vines wrapped around the old mansion. Dead trees, bushes, shrubs, and grass scattered the platform. A rustic, broken fountain lay at the center of the yard. The cracked, weathered down driveway made a circle around it. Everything about the house was just dead. The dull colors of the sandy brown layout didn't help the beauty either.  
It was black on the inside. How could Mycroft be here? There was nothing of human life form here for what seemed to be a long time.  
"I don't-" I turned around to tell Anthea my thoughts but it was too late. The jaguar pulled away. I was stuck here.  
Hiking to the house I kept my eyes open, browsing for anything that could potentially be a threat. Once I reached the door, I almost turned around and left. This was all too sketchy. Why would Mycroft be in a abandoned house? Letting curiosity get the best of me, I began to reach for the door. Before I could grab the door handle, I felt cold fingers slide inside the neck of my coat and pull me back. I stumbled back, nearly falling on my ass. My eyes scanned to whom may have grabbed me. Mycroft stood there in front of me, a cocky grin on his face, his cheeks red from the temperature.  
"Eager aren't we Mr. Adler?"  
I straightened myself out. "Eager for what?"  
He laughed mockingly and directed me towards a bench to our left.  
"Come sit."  
I joined him on the aged bench. We did not speak, just gazed out onto the dead surroundings about the house. It was grave to look at because of the early winter. Everything was dying. Just the nature of the seasons.  
"Alright?" Mycroft’s voice was raspy.  
"Fine."  
"That's good. Enjoying the outside?"  
"It's cold."  
Mycroft smugly laughed.  
Within a year, he hadn't changed much. Same silver ore, same body language, same contemplating facial expression. Still trying to lose weight. Maybe it hasn't really been a year. Nothing changed. Then again, a year really isn't all that long.  
"You know, it was the best for you," he began, looking out into the sky.  
I joined him gazing out into the sky, unsure what were actually looking at.  
"How'd you do it?"  
"Do what?"  
"Let me get away with murder."  
He seemed uncomfortable in response to my blunt words. He cleared his throat, cocking his head slightly. "Lucky for you, there had been an ironic serial killer patrolling London, killing the tourist. Mr. Heartly’s death was untimely; wrong place, wrong time. Nothing that suggested otherwise."  
"And the agency?"  
"They received the paperwork I sent later that day, making Mr. Heartly’s trip to London a bitter farewell."  
I could not argue with that. Mycroft successfully pulled off a murder. My murder. I still felt no remorse for what I had done. I could smile right now, but that would be far from appropriate.  
"As far as the agency is concerned you are exactly where you need to be. We no longer have to worry about them. You are an English citizen." He gave a smile, nudging his shoulder at me.  
I flashed a fake smile, creating a long pause between us. Awkward silence.  
Then I dissolved that silence. "That wasn't the first murder you've gotten away with."  
My words were threatening. I meant every word. What else did I have to lose? A trip back to Ashworth? That was nothing. I locked my eyes on him.  
During my time in Ashworth I often got bored. Always looking for ways to entertain myself, other than using internet privileges and feeding my ongoing addiction. I looked deeper into my mother’s murder case. Doctor Cyril was kind enough to give me some of her files. And as I scanned them very carefully, something did not add up. There were no witnesses. No one to say what kind of person my mother was. If she were in any danger. A point blank shot to the back of the head. Execution style. I was deprived of my chance to pledge for my mother's case. They dropped the case as soon as I headed to the UK. Would my testimony have mattered at all?  
All of that lead to this very moment.  
"It was your mess I cleaned up Mr. Adler," he said sternly.  
"You are the one who killed my mother."  
"She asked me to Mr. Adler."  
Mycroft was now the one telling lies? He wasn't very good at it. I could clearly see through them like glass.  
No one just asks to be killed. Especially if have a child back at home. She would have been out of her mind.  
"She had a living will," he added.  
My confused face froze with the bitter cold air hitting us.  
"Living will?"  
"A couple years ago, your mother reached out to me. She was diagnosed with a terminal illness."  
Terminal Illness - A disease that cannot be cured or adequately treated and that is reasonably expected to result in the death of the patient within a short period of time  
"...What kind?"  
"Leukemia."  
Leukemia - A malignant progressive disease in which the bone marrow and other blood-forming organs produce increased numbers of immature or abnormal leukocytes.  
My mother never told me she had leukemia. Nor did she ever show signs of having cancer. She hardly went to the doctor. She was always happy, energetic, and full of life. A perfectly healthy mother at a young age. Then again, I would have been too blind to see her suffering.  
Another thing she lied to me about. Of course. Pity.  
"Anyways, she was going to die. I offered her to come to England to receive the highest medical treatment possible but she denied it. She thought she deserved it. But Irene didn't want to leave you behind, so she requested, more like begged me to care for you after her death."  
So no matter what, I was bound to end up in England with Mycroft. My life had already been written before I had lived it.  
"She made one request." He sighed. Fogged mist fell from his mouth as he spoke. "She wanted to die before the cancer got worse. Before you could notice."  
A suicide from someone else's hands. Could you still call that murder when someone is legitimately asking for it? Could you still call it suicide when someone else is putting the trigger?  
"I kept an eye on you and her both for awhile, and when her cancer began to take a toll on her physical state, I fulfilled her request. Mr. Adler, she did not want you to see her decay."  
It made sense in the long run. I wouldn't have wanted to watch my own mother die. Her being murdered and the discovery of her old identity saved a lot of questioning from police.  
"My apologies Mr. Adler."  
I nodded, staring into the ground, soaking in all the new information. My mother was a criminal, I didn't know. My mother and father saw me as a mistake, I didn't know. My mother had cancer...  
"This living will?" I asked, nearly a whisper.  
"Well, during your mother's time in England, she had a lot of financial gain. Of course, more than half of it was illegally obtained. The rest is from life insurance policies. Have you ever heard of the saying: ‘If you owe the bank a thousand dollars the bank owns you. But when you owe the bank ten thousand dollars you own the bank’?"  
"No."  
"That's how she seemed to get her money. Loans, debts and secretly saving. Do not worry, I fixed it with the banks. You still are entitled to a massive amount of inheritance." He snorted. "This house you see behind us was her's as well."  
That would explain why it looked old, abandoned and dead.  
"All of it is yours."  
I was taken back with those words. What was mine? The house? The money?  
"What is?"  
"The money and the house. It's all yours Mr. Adler."  
"What am I going to do with..." I couldn't finish.  
"Well, I started remodeling inside already. Tomorrow, the decorators will be here. Just let them do their jobs, and by the end of the month the house should be brand new." He patted my knee.  
I was still trying to understand all of this. And Mycroft wonders why I have nervous breakdowns. He laid all this information out and threw me to the lions expecting me to know what to do and how to react. My mother had a rather large sum of money just for me. To do what with? I don't know. And this huge, dark, scary house all for myself.  
This could be fun.  
"Don't worry about cost. You have plenty to cover revisions. You will be quite okay for a long time."  
I sighed with anxiety. I wasn't sure how to handle this. But I knew how to handle it in the most emotionless way possible. At least I wasn't homeless or broke.  
"Mr. Adler, what did you want to be growing up?"  
His question was random, completely off topic. I wasn't in the mood for self reflection.  
"I don't know. A video game creator."  
"And what do you want to be now?"  
I actually knew the answer to that. After my arrival to England, I discovered a passion for the human body. How it functioned on a daily basis. How far we actually could actually push ourselves. How little we actually use our senses, having over twenty-five of them. We only had access 10% of our brain. But my greatest interest was the human body after it was no longer in use by its owner. It had far more interesting stories to tell dead than alive. I wasn't sure where this passion came from, but I was obsessed. Reading all the human anatomy books, thanatology studies, and death culture I could get my hands on. Being dissolved in the knowledge of it. Understanding the use of a body after death was fascinating, knowing how one died. Of course the body provided better evidence than the crime scene could have shown. The dead had my attention.  
"Mortician."  
I couldn't say he looked surprised, but it probably wasn't the answer he was looking for.  
"Really?" His face crinkled. "Alright. You aren't going to stay home all day letting your talents go to waste. I've enrolled you into University. You start next semester."  
My face probably froze in reaction to Mycroft's words. I wasn't prepared for them in any way. I just got out of a mental institution, and I was well on my way back to normal life like nothing had even happened.  
"The least you could do is thank me." He seemed so calm.  
"Thank you. But am I-"  
"You'll be fine Mr. Adler."  
I was just released from Ashworth, a mental hospital, not even twenty-four hours ago and here I was discovering my riches and my future. I was already off to become something of use, not this disappointing self-being.  
The familiar silence fell back onto us, holding our tongues. My social strain was stronger than this silence.  
"Mycroft, why are people calling me Adler. Legally, that’s not my last name."  
It seemed like a good time to ask such a question. Ever since I met Mycroft and told him that I prefered Adler, it stuck. Everyone called me by that name. It wasn't even my legal last name: Davis.  
"Yes it is."  
"What?"  
"Once you were admitted to Ashworth, I had your last name changed to Adler. Just how you like it."  
"Thank you."  
I felt like I couldn't breathe for a moment. This was serious. Everything right here, in front of me, was real. I was my own person, going in the right direction of who I needed to be. Roman Adler, a young, wealthy man going to college to become a mortician. I liked the sound of that.  
"Since I won’t be around much anymore don't be barmy," he said, putting emphasis on barmy. "Curiosity can get the best of a person." He looked at me with cold, dead eyes." You do not have permission to find Sherlock Holmes. If you go so much as the same street as him Mr. Adler, I will forced to take you down."  
I gulped at his words. Forced to take you down. I maintained my emotionless face. He couldn't be serious. How would he know? It probably wasn't a good idea to try and find out. I had other things to do anyway. I would be soaking up in riches, no thanks to Sherlock Holmes.  
I nodded.  
"Lastly, before I depart." He stood adjusting his tan, bulky overcoat. "I've hired you a therapist, to help with your...addiction. I expect better from you Mr. Adler."  
"Just because I choose venereal satisfaction over an illegal substance doesn't mean I need rehabilitation."  
"Ah, well Sherlock was long to be so delinquent."  
My escape wasn't anywhere near as lethal as my father's drug of choice. I was in no real danger, my life was filled with more pleasurable experiences than a chasing treadmill workout with no results. I could get this drug at any time, and everyone would be satisfied.  
"I don't need a therapist."  
His laugh made me twitch with annoyance. He wasn't hearing me out.  
"Now, I must be going Mr. Adler. Please do enjoy your new home. Electric, water, and heating have been recently activated, so enjoy. Cheers."  
And just like that, before I could say anything else, he was gone. Turning his back on me. Walking away.  
I must have sat on that old, rigidity bench for over an hour. Nighttime had fallen before I could notice. Mycroft disappeared like usual into the night. I was left alone outside, in the cold, left to fend for myself. I liked this new idea of being in control. I could do anything now and no one could tell me otherwise. I could go anywhere.  
Freedom - the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.  
Ahh yes, my freedom.  
Freedom gave me the opportunity to release on anyone I wanted to. I had yet to feed it today. I was starving, itching, wanting my fix and with this new life. I could feed my addiction anywhere, anytime, anyway I wanted to. Brilliant. Instead of welcoming myself into my home, I choose to feed under the cold night sky.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well would you just look at Roman! Moving up in the world! Like it? Let me know! :D Follow and favorite! You know you want to. Have any ideas on Roman's addiction? Oh you'll find out next week: Chapter 11: The Shrink and The Treatment. Roman's therapist finally shows and HOT DAMN there is going to be some smut. But will it last? Find out either this Monday, Thursday, or next Monday, I haven’t decided yet! I need your guys’ support!


	11. Chapter 11: The Shrink and The Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman is starting to get conformable in his new home. But the winter weather is taking a toll on his hobby. The therapist finally comes and damn, it is something else. But will it last?
> 
> Fair Warning: This is my first time writing heterosexual smut...so yeah. Hope you like it. Viewers discretion is advised. Some S&M.

Chapter 11: The Shrink and The Treatment  
I kept the redecorating, remodeling, refurbishing, and whatever else to the professionals. My only request was to keep it simple and dark with a modern look. I stood by watching, correcting if necessary. Being a guy, stuff like this wasn't my thing, so even the corrections weren't coordinated. But to help environment out a bit, I had solar panels placed on the roof, why waste energy when you could save it?  
This house had more space than I needed. Ten bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a season room, a study/library, kitchen, dining room more sizable than necessary, and a living room twenty times bigger than my room at Mycroft's. I even had an indoor swimming pool. I didn’t even like swimming or water. All this luxury was too much for me. I wasn't even sure what I would do with it. Without my consent, Mycroft even hired my very own maid, cook, and butler.   
During our clearance of my mother's home, when they made it to the basement, they found some of her things. A Steinway Classical Piano, I had that placed in the dining room. Maybe someday I would learn how to play it. Also, paintings, probably worth millions now, were placed around my house. Strangely enough, there were multiple self-portraits of my mother. I kept those down there, off away from my fun. I didn’t need nude paintings of my mother in my home. That's weird.  
Alright, with money comes great opportunity. Grandeur taste. In order to prepare myself for university, I purchased every book I could possibly need from biology to psychology. Dissection kits of various kinds, proper tools need to do an autopsy. I had my basement turned into a morgue, holding an area for examination, embalming, and cremation. I took the idea of becoming a mortician very seriously. I was deeply interested in the art. I couldn't wait.  
I started school in a couple months. Anticipation and curiosity destroyed every nerve in my body. I wanted to dive right in, skip the long lectures, exams, and midnight cramming. Move straight to making the Y incision, explore the art that is the body. How we grow, why we decay so rapidly after three days of passing. God, there was just so much. I figured most vehicle deaths were internal, most rape victims demise under the skin, and in rare cases, a teenager or young adult dies unknowingly and it's the mortician's job to figure out the cause of death. I wanted that title.  
You could call it Clue twisted with Operation.  
…  
School had just started for me in January. The weather was still cold, it snowed often, so actually commuting to school was a challenge. Luckily, I restocked myself with homework, labs, and experiments to keep me busy. Or I was searching for someone to share my release with. But even the weather took a toll on my ability to get my fix. People really don't like the snow, I concurred. Even I didn't.  
I had been cooped up in this spacious house for five days now. London was hit with an arctic blizzard. School was canceled because no one could be present. When I went on the hunt, the town was a ghost. I was starving, craving, like a caged animal. Five days without the proper fulfillment. Only substitutions and sleeping pills. If the weather did not clear up or I wasn't drowning in school work, entertaining my habits, I was going to lose it. Madness. I love the cold but damn.  
I didn’t remember the last time I slept, or at least slept in my own bed. It had to be four days now, this storm was sending my body into pure chaos. I stayed up reading, writing, just working. I needed to keep my mind off my shortage. I bet I looked like a mess, not having showered or shaved in probably three days, and I haven’t changed either. Same white button up, nearly all untucked from my slacks. My hair was greasy, beyond a tangled mess.   
I was having one of those moments where I knew I was dreaming, but I didn’t know or remember what I was dreaming about. It seemed all black. Maybe an outline of a man, a kind smile. Bright blue eyes, his voice was silence because I wasn't comfortable enough to comprehend it. I must have fallen asleep at my desk again. There goes my back. Fuck. But who was this man? My father? No.  
It was fading.  
"Mr. Adler."  
A deep voice was calling my name. Was it the dream?  
"Mr. Adler!"  
I was able to hear the voice this time. I shot up from my deathly sleep in a panic, knocking water bottles over in the process.  
"WHAT!" I yelled.  
In dismay, I scanned around to find where the voice came from.  
"You have a visitor."  
It was the butler Mycroft hired. You know, I really didn't like the idea of having a butler. Answering the door without my permission, inviting people in that I may not want to deal with. Always being around. A bit annoying. Like a pet, only worse. I paid him.  
He stood there, hands behind his back, dressed in a hundred dollar black suit, thanks to my money. His legs were taller than his midsection. An iris purple aura. Senior to Mycroft, I wasn't sure about how he was able to do the job, he was almost seventy. His receded white hair pressed down ever so quaintly to his head. His pale peach skin sagged around the mouth and teeth below his golden brown eyes. Never been married, no kids, good health, he was the ideal butler. Of course, he had been a manservant for many, many years. Practically devoted his whole life to the fashion.  
On the contrary, the porcelain figure standing next to him was divine. A female of such beauty in my room? Something was off. Her face showed many layers of introversion. She felt and looked out of place. She had a dim tiger orange aura. Even though it was weak, I could see the passion in her aura. So sheepish, lax, calm. Her black hair was worn up in a ponytail, leaving her flawless face exposed. Black eyes, ghost skin. A mustard yellow woman’s overcoat covered her body. I could see her untouchable, smooth, lotioned legs and white high heels. She looked delightful. My, my.  
I found myself lost in her image, my mouth gaped open like I had never seen such beauty in an Asian woman like her. Superb, my dear.  
"I'm sorry I'm late. The roads were atrocious." Her voice was high, but sweet pea.  
I just stared at her. I wasn't expecting anyone. This must have been Mycroft’s doings. But what was her purpose? Hopefully something fun. Maybe my frustration was being discharged.  
"I'm Maia Lang." She stumbled towards me.  
I was still sitting at my desk, papers scattered everywhere, even the floor. I was an utter mess, not suitable for her radiance.  
The sound of her steps echoed from her heels. Each step pounded in my ears.  
I stood up immediately once she reached me. I held my hand out, waiting to be greeted by her cold hands. And indeed they were cold, her small fingers could be broken so easily with the compulsing heat flaming from my hands.  
"Ma.. Roman Adler, Mr. Adler." My tongue was tripping over itself.  
I was drooling. I couldn't help it, damn she was wanton.  
I gestured for her take a seat, she complied maturely. I sat back down in my chair.  
"Mr. Taylor bring some coffee. Black." I looked to Ms. Lang, "You want anything?"  
She hesitated. “Uh...water would be nice.”  
Butler Taylor left to retrieve our wishes. I still, even after a couple months, wasn't used to the whole idea of having a large sum of money, having a house this size all to myself, and people to do whatever I said. I was no longer a child, just a spoiled young man.  
"So Roman do you know why I am here?" She removed her coat.  
She was wearing a white silk dress, strapless. It revealed her shoulder, and neck, and a little bit of cleavage. What a tease. What elegance. It brightened her orange aura. Maybe she was a service provider of some sort. I was more than game.  
"It's Mr. Adler, and no." I leaned back in my seat.  
I had an idea.  
Young, about twenty four, single, no children, originally from China? No Korea. North Korea. The rest of the family still in North Korea. Her formality showed. Lived with a distant relative, went to school, for what? White clothes, innocence. Soft features, caring person. A nurse? No, not the proper uniform. Tutor? No, not smart enough. Plus I was doing fine in school. Ah, caring, kind, strong voiced, very observant, a therapist. Wait, dammit. That's no fun.  
"You're the therapist Mycroft informed me about. I remember now."  
She nodded, beginning to smile, "Yes."  
I sighed out of boredom, "And I really thought you were going to be worth my time. My depression is mild, I can handle it. Anxiety levels are low, only spiked when dealing with aggravations such as this. My ability to understand and cope with my new surroundings is normal. Going from an asylum to this is a bit overwhelming, lonely, but I’ll deal with it. I'm sleeping fin..." I stopped myself, my sleeping was off. "...I'm taking my medication when needed. Is that all you need? If so, please don't hesitate to leave. No need to return either. I'm quite fine. Do me a favor and tell Mycroft I don't need his help." I spun around in my chair away from her, gazing at my rather large collection of books on human anatomy and life after death.  
"That's not why I'm here Mr. Adler."  
"Then why are you here?"  
"I'm here to help you with your addiction."  
Addiction - A strong and harmful need to regularly have something  
I turned back around slowly, trying not to look too appalled.  
"So, Mycroft sends someone like you?"  
"Uh, yes?"  
"I would have expected someone older, more experienced. Someone less tempting to come."  
"I have experience."  
I gave a sarcastic, snobby laugh. "In bed, maybe."  
She looked insulted, I knew she was. Her attitude and vocals changed; she became stern and spoke in a as-a-matter-of-fact like tone. "I can assure you Mr. Adler, I know how to do my job. I'm just not used to doing it one on one. Forgive me. Mycroft insisted."  
"Mhm," I mocked her, "as I said, waste of my time."  
As she shifted in her chair, I could see her aura growing stronger. She was getting pissed.  
"Mr. Adler, are you aware that you have a problem?"  
How much more did she need to get the hint, I was not interested in self reflection.  
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to untangle some of the knots. "I don't call it an addiction, you do."  
"What do you call it then?"  
"A recreational activity." I smiled, happy with my answer.  
She was irritated by my sarcasm.  
We stared at each other, observing each other, seeing through ours soul. But little did she know, I didn't carry a soul. I was just a hollow shell of a breathing man.  
Butler Taylor entered the room, breaking the tension, bearing my requested coffee and Ms. Lang's glass of water.  
"Thank you Taylor."  
He left silently afterwards, closing the study room door.  
I tasted my coffee, giving a distasteful face after a sip. I hated coffee but with the lack of sleep, this was what kept me awake.  
"I really hate coffee."  
"Then why drink it?"  
"It comes with the university package."  
She smiled slightly at my humor. I was being serious though.  
"You just started university right? How is that?"  
"Fine."  
"I went to school in Germany, it was a cultural experience. I even learned how to speak German. I'm not very good at it. Is it for you? A culture shock."  
"Not really."  
English schooling systems weren't so different from American. Sure, there were different ways of going about terminology and grading scale, but nothing I couldn't get used to.  
"Since you are conscious of your addiction, don't you want help to recovery?"  
"No."  
"Why not? You don't have to be a prisoner to this ongoing dependence."  
"I am no prisoner, Ms. Lang." I leaned forward in my seat.  
"You may think you have control over it, but in reality, you are just a pawn. It can move you in any direction it wants to."  
I took another regretful sip of my black coffee, taking in her words but really not understanding them.  
I stood up, striding over to her. "Ms. Lang, many people who suffer from an addiction only cure themselves for the pure satisfaction of their loved ones. And I'm short on two of those things."  
"What two things?"  
"The capability to please people and having a real addiction."  
"You do."  
I leaned against my desk with my arms across my chest, folding one leg over the other. When I did that, her aura’s flame dimmed greatly, providing a edgy look. I looked down at her. She was wonderful like that, below me. On the other hand, she appeared to be uncomfortable with me staring down at her, making her feel less than me; she was inferior to me. I owned this room, every object inside of it, even the priceless air she was breathing. The atmosphere was in my control.  
"Y-you are too young to be suffering from a fixation like this, don't you think..? How was your ch-childhood?" She was breaking under me.  
"Fine." I was confident with my quick response.  
"Your mother, I know she passed....I am sorry. But, was she a ...good mother?"  
I rolled my eyes and sighed. The classical form of therapy. Blame the parents.  
"Did she have a lot of boyfriends? Did she drink a lot?"  
I gave no response.  
"Was she around often? Partaking in your educational practices and engaging in your life?"  
Silence filled the room as she awaited my answer.  
"Mr. Adler, this is confidential, you can tell me." She said under her eyelashes.  
"No it's not."  
"Did you have friends growing up? If so how many?"  
I stared at her, cocking my head with every wasteful question. She was more attractive when she did not talk, not even understanding the hint that I wanted her to shut up.  
She continued to ask question after question while I grew tired of them, very fast. I didn't want her here in the first place. The questioning became very tedious.  
I had an awfully short patience now-a-days.  
"Mr. Adler I need your cooperation!" That high pitched voice squeaked from her belly.  
How dare she be so ignorant as to snap at me. That won't do.  
In a moment of anger, I bent down and placed both my hands on the arms of her chair, gawking intently down at her, dismembering her psychological mind set. I was so close, breathing my coffee scented breath down her pale neck into her white dress. Our faces were only inches from touching.  
"Ms. Lang, I'm a hands on kind of guy." My voice was hot, deep, and threatening.  
She looked carefully up at me, trying to seem innocent and defenseless. She was only tempting me. I could ruin her in the blink of an eye.  
"Do you want me to show you why I really enjoy my so called addiction?"  
I didn’t think she knew how to react to that statement because she only glared at me, unsure of what to think. Fear was flooding inside her. Heart beat sped up, sweat glands unraveled, she spoke dry letters.  
"Y...yes."  
I held my hand up to her. She acknowledged my output, taking my hand. I helped her onto her shaking feet. We stood so close, our body heat clashing together. Her orange aura ringed around us. Her breathing hastened. Her small size, only reaching my neck, my exhalation down to her porcelain face. Physically, she could not look at me.  
In a blink of an eye, even before I could process what I was doing, I grabbed Ms. Lang's hips, pulling her around to the desk, lifting her up onto it. Sitting her on top of my very important papers. She yelped at my movement, completely unprepared. However, she did not protest. I wasn't sure what I was doing. How far would this go? I'd take it step by step. I ran my fingers against her smooth, lustful legs, silken in lotion. The higher I got the hotter her legs were. My fingertips began to sweat when I arrived to her thighs. Oh my.  
"Mr. Ad-"  
I put my larger finger to her pink, puffy lips, "Unless you plan to ask me a question about my ‘addiction’, do not speak," My fingers hopped down to her neck, gliding across her collarbone, "and they better be worthy questions."  
Her eye were weak, melting into my palms. A melting pot. It may have been her job to cure whatever problem I seemed to have in society, but at this moment she was very contradicting, giving me exactly what made me a servant.  
"This isn't a proper way of showing me your reasoning."  
"That's not a question." I bit down on her neck, not hard enough to cause any actual damage, just enough for the indents of my teeth to show.  
Her hand shot up into my greasy hair, pulling it. A whispered moan popped out of her.  
"Why...why are you showing me -like this... Mr. Adler?"  
I smiled, moving myself in between her legs as they spread open for me. Her dress crumpled up, nearly exposing her entirety. Lustful, she was.  
"What better way to display than a hands on lesson."  
"What...are you going to...to do?" Her voice was shaky.  
I shot my eyes to her, looking wantful, needy, and aroused. I kissed her cheek lightly.  
"After I'm finished, you are going to understand exactly why I enjoy my hobby so much."  
I deliberately avoided answering her question, for I wasn't sure what I was going to do either.  
My words made her squirm. She tried to shift her position, but I was too close for her to move. She was stuck where I put her. Her cheeks were lovely shades of red now, hot to the touch.  
I traced figure eights between her thighs, sliding in deeper with each closing circle. I watched her body tense, relax, tense, shake, and twitch with my seeking touch. God, she was so beautiful unfolding before my eyes. Even though I was the client, my job was to open up to her. Instead, she was gaping herself for me.  
Call me Doctor Psychologist Adler.  
She was soaking, the silk of her panties were moist with lubrication. It seemed from the very moment I laid a hand on her, she was liquidating. I thumbed the wetness as she slipped a moan from her beautiful mouth. My she was perfect.  
"You can not tell me you don't want this." I licked her neck seductively, "And even if you did, your body says otherwise Ms. Lang."  
I gave a half teasing smile at her as my fingers began removing her panties from her minutiae waist, down her plump thighs, and finally falling off her bony ankles onto my floor. They were pink silk lace lingerie.  
She appeared to be shocked, but she did nothing to show she was uncomfortable. She just put her hand around my neck.  
"How often do you feed your need?" she asked, huffing.  
"As often as I need. Sometimes just once a day, others can take up to three to five times before I've had my fill," I replied, biting her neck, pushing up her dress even more.  
I lifted her up just enough to pull her dress above the waistline. There I uncovered her genitals. She was cleanly shaven, waxed maybe? How inviting. I groped her tightly, letting my fingers collapse between her labia, cupping her clitoris. As my fingers went in a circular motion, she tensed up, pushing her legs against mine, hard. I did not stop, in fact I moved my fingers quicker. She was so wet, what a slut.  
She moaned in my ear, she was practically begging for more. Her hands cupped around my neck, pulling me closer to her. I slid my finger inside her, so warm, dank, and sticky. She devoured me.  
"You're so wet."  
I spurred my pace up. Thrusting my finger in and out of her. She pulled my hair, trying to pull me in deeper, great slut.  
"How does it feel?" I whispered.  
I wrapped my other hand around her lower back and pulled her out more, sinking my fingers deeper inside her.  
"...Oh. Great." She could barely speak.  
"It feels more than great Ms. Lang, it feels unexplainable. All you can do is want more, and more because it is so good. "  
She loved every word that came out of my mouth while hers stayed wide open, wanting to speak, but no words were audible.  
I slipped another finger inside as deep as I could, thrusting, fucking her sweet, sweet vagina. I couldn't wait to really be in her.  
"What's your favorite part?" Her voice was more of raspy moans than of full syllables.  
But oh how I enjoyed that question. I would have such joy answering that. "The part where I fuck the humanity out of you." My tongue started at her cleavage, then trailed all the way up to her chin. She threw her head back in hopeless pleasure.  
I removed my fingers, she clenched tightly, trying to stop my fingers, but I was stronger. She cried out.  
I fiddled around with my belt, damn, why was it so hard to unfasten? My hands weren't even trembling. I just had wet fingers from Ms. Lang. Eventually my belt gave in, the sound of my zipper rushed in her ears.  
"Wait," she said, stopping me. "Protection?"  
Right. Through all this pleasure she was still smart enough to protect us both. I wasn't about to pull a dumb move like my father. Mistake number two would not exist while I had a say. Mycroft would kill me. Plus, I hardly knew her. Then again, I hardly know my victims, period.  
"In my desk. Top drawer, to the right," I instructed her.  
She followed my order perfectly, finding what we needed in a second. I took the condom from her, ripped it open, and rolled it on me.  
"Go slow," she said, looking at me.  
I smiled evilly. "Don't tell me what to do."  
I pulled her forward quickly. She was inches from falling off my desk, hovering right above my dick. I aligned myself fully to her. My tip brushed against her clitoris. She moaned, pulling my hair. I entered her. I watched her head pull back, her back arch up, and her legs wrap around my thighs. Christ she was amazing.  
I moved slowly in her, teasing her. Teasing myself. She felt amazing, so warm, wet, and tight. God. I continued to thrust in her, speeding up to increase the volume of her moaning. So loud. She called out my formal name. "Ah...Mr. Adler." She knew better than to call me Roman. I grabbed her hips and continued to roll in, out, in, out, fast, slow down, speed up. She reacted wholly to my movements.  
"See," I started, my breath labored, "You think I have a problem. But Ms. Lang, you seem to be enjoying this more than I. Just because I request this activity more than the average person does not not mean I am addicted." I pushed her back onto her elbows.  
Her eyes were close, enclosed with pleasure and caught up in this moment. Her moaning was loud enough so that anyone could hear, but I didn't care and I guess she didn't either. Slutty she was a slut.  
She was powerless to argue against me. I was so deep in her, fucking her senselessly. My cock was filling her up, slamming into her viginual walls. My thrusting was violent, merciless.   
"Too...much of a good thing...can be a bad...thing Mr. Adler. Ah..." Her seductive eyes were talking more clearly than her mouth.  
"That can debated." I slammed hard into her a couple times, punishments.  
I bent down, putting my body weight on her, this slowed her breathing. A pleasurable experience if handled correctly. I pulled down her dress, a pentably sized breast fell out and began to bounce with my movement. Oh fuck. I grabbed the handful I could manage, squeezing it tightly. She gasped out a groan. I used her breast as my grip and pounded her vagina hard, barbarously.  
"Oh!" she called out.  
She looked so tasty, I could just fuck her all day. Her body gave in to me so easily. What a whore.  
"What am I addicted to?" I demanded an answer, quickly.  
She couldn't speak, it was hard form words. But the unforgiving slams I punished her with made it unfold out of her dirty mouth. "Sexual pleasure!"  
Fuck. Just the words I needed. I was moments from losing control, and so was she. I kept up my beating pace. "I need this..." I barely finished my thought before the orgasm came crashing through me. I lost all control, emptying myself into the thinly lined latex that separated us.  
We stayed silent for a moment. All that was to be heard was the huffing, labored breathing coming from us. I wrecked her.  
I pulled out, removed the condom, and threw it in the trashcan beside my desk. I tucked myself away and stepped back from Ms. Lang, letting her collect, compose, and frankly, to get off my desk.  
Her legs were jello, and it was hard for her to stand, so I held her up to help her gain her balance. She adjusted her dress back to normal.  
I returned back behind my desk and took a seat. I pretended to review the papers before me, but really I couldn't focus.  
"Be sure to close the door behind you," I said, not looking at her.  
I could tell she was offended, rushing her out of my sight after just we finishing fucking. I didn't care. She was staring at me, waiting for me, to say I was joking. I wasn't.  
I watched her for only for a second, she put on her mustard colored overcoat and gathered her things.  
"I'll be back next week. Thursday around five."  
I gave no reply.  
"Goodbye Mr. Adler."  
"Goodbye." I waved her on.  
Once she was gone and behind the doors. I got back up and walked around the study. Thinking about what had just happened. Her goal as the therapist was to somehow make me see and feel like a terrible person. And that my behavior unacceptable. But with what just went down, I was thinking that she wasn't trying to cure me, perhaps it was a form of treatment? Fantastic.  
Her panties were still lying on the floor next to my desk. I picked them up, studying them.  
She forgot them on accident? I don't think so, purposely. For what? A reason to come back? No, she was coming back anyways. Ahh. It's a souvenir, how delightful.  
I smiled tastefully.  
…  
Ms. Lang did return on the said date and the many Thursdays after. I would have to guess about two or three months passed. We kept having our regular sessions. She would come at about five, we would only talk for a second or so before I pinned her down on my desk, the wall, or the floors. We were like animals, constantly fucking, hot, sweaty, violent fuckings. Each time was loud, deep, and aggressive. By the end of every session, I bared her nails’ marks on my chest and back. And she had painful hickeys on numerous parts of her body and an inability to walk up right after. God damn, we never failed to bring her best. It was astounding.  
Sometimes on Thursdays when I was running late due to mountains of assignments from university or cramped traffic, Ms. Lang would be there waiting for me. She would either be sitting in my chair, going through my files, solemnly because she wanted punishment for it, or I would find her completely naked, rubbing her sweet smell all over my things. On rare occasions, and honestly my favorite times, I'd find her playing with herself, using the various toys I left in my desk. They weren’t really meant for her, but I made sure they were always clean. The idea of treating me was so exciting.  
I liked trying new things each week.  
Wistfully though, her words, "you are just a pawn to this addiction," did happen to stick with me. I liked to think I was in total control of myself and my body, but sometimes that was not the case. I would get lost in pleasure and fixation and lose who I essentially was, lost in the pain of pleasure. I was a slave to this hobby I craved, and maybe I was okay with that. I was a mess.  
I was in control.  
…  
Today was Thursday, and of course, I was running late. Not by much, just fifteen minutes. I darted past people, moving cars, and busy streets. Spring was just around the corner so more people were out and about, enjoying the weather while I just wanted to get home to Ms. Lang for our weekly sessions.  
I ripped through my front door, quickly discarding my coat, then I began to loosen up my tie.  
I opened my door to my study.  
"Sorry I'm late. Hope you haven't started without me." I laughed.  
My eyes scanned the room. Something wasn't right about the atmosphere.  
Ms. Lang sat in the chair where I first met her, right in front of my desk with her head in her hands. I could hear her crying, sobbing graphically.  
"What's wrong?" I grew panicked.  
From the corner of my eye, I saw my chair move. When I focused on it, the chair completely turned. Mycroft was in my chair, drinking a scotch and carrying an ashamed, uncomfortable, and disappointed look in his eyes.  
"Just on time Mr. Adler."  
"What are you doing here? Why is Ms. Lang crying?"  
He glanced over to her for a minute, then looked back on me. She was still crying, not speaking.  
"You haven't improved." Mycroft stood up, strolling around my desk beside Ms. Lang. "You've gotten worse actually. It seems Ms. Lang hasn’t been helping much either." He placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked scared and she jumped with the contact.  
I glared him.  
"Ms. Lang is being sent back to North Korea."  
"That's not fair!" I shouted.  
"You have abused my services!"  
"Why is she going back to Korea?" I pointed to Ms. Lang.  
"Her job was help you overcome your...strange addiction. NOT fuel it. It's a complete contradiction to her title Mr. Adler."  
"How'd you find out?"  
"Her reports were weak," he sighed. "And the volume you two produced...how did you not expect Mr. Taylor or Miss Kate to hear?"  
"That's bullshit."  
He blinked rapidly at my attitude, protest, and being pissed off. Maybe he did not understand.  
I didn't understand why I was upset either. I wasn't in need of therapy for my "problem". I didn't need Ms. Lang. But her performance and services to me were grand. And for all of this to end with her being shipped back to North Korea, that wasn't fair.  
"Say goodbye, Ms. Lang," Mycroft ordered.  
Ms. Lang gathered herself together, physically and emotionally. She wiped tears from her eyes, put her mustard colored coat on, and threw her purse over her shoulder. She stood before me. I felt her hand glide up to my cheek. She was so hopelessly broken.  
"Goodbye Mr. Adler," her breaking voice muttered.  
Her fingers slipped away from my stubbly face. I felt nothing but the soft air she made once she passed me. She was gone.  
Mycroft was watching our department. He seemed unmoved, even a bit annoyed.  
I stood there, mind blank from her last touch. The very last touch of Ms. Maia Lang with the tiger orange aura that I would never see again. I vaguely remembered our first appointment. She asked me what my favorite part was, and I replied with a hormonal answer. But that wasn't the truth.  
My real favorite part was watching her leave, and knowing how she was leaving and never coming back was my most favorite part of all.  
Mycroft began to walk away from me. Passing me, he stopped to say something.  
"Your addiction is beyond my help Roman."  
He left. He was gone too.  
I was alone.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...I hope you aren't feeling like "what the fuck did I just read" or "well that escalated quickly". You have no idea how I felt writing this. Google is a savior. I don't know shit about the female anatomy. After writing I needed to lay down and rethink my life. Anyways! What'd you think? Favorite, review, ect. Please. Ms. Lang may not have lasted long in Roman's life, but her presence makes an impact on Roman forever. And after she's gone he begins to fall apart. Find out more next Monday.Chapter 12: The Pharmaceuticals and The Friend. The title itself is kinda explanatory. Roman makes a friend whose name is rather ironic and I didn't know just how ironic until I finished writing it. Lastly, there's been another time change. All this and more Monday.


	12. The Pharmaceuticals and The Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Alright, another time jump. After Ms. Lang's departure, it's been two years. Roman's finishing up his third year of university. He's a made a friend! His name is oddly ironic, if you catch the irony you are awesome, if not, it's okay. I didn't realize it until I finished this chapter. Haha, but be expecting drugs, drinking, partying AND BOYXBOY kissing. Lastly, Roman decides to break into his mother's room! OHHH what will he find!?  
> Dark printed words mean text messages. Example: -RA is initiated just so you know who's talking.

Chapter 12: The Pharmaceuticals and The Friend.  
I knew I would miss Ms. Lang of course. Who wouldn't miss that body? And the way her body moved when we fornicated, unforgettable. But the way I missed her was different. I would spend days on end trying to figure out why I felt this. There were some theories I produced. One was that she was just so damn good at giving me what I needed. Or that she was consistent, unlike most of the people I slept with, who were just one night stands. With her, I saw her once a week, Thursdays, not that I wanted to, but I really couldn't avoid her. Maybe she was just someone to come home to, someone who looked forward to seeing me. Although I saw her pretty regularly, I was always excited to see her when I did. She made me feel wanted, special in some awkward world; I felt she understood me. She knew how I felt based on my performance. Bad days equaled mean, merciless sex. Good days, well, were good. She also knew what I was thinking without me speaking a syllable. She “got” me. Ms. Lang made me see things in myself, learn about them, and understand them. She was a good therapist. I just wish Mycroft could have seen that.  
It was a pathetic thing to think of. I missed her only because she gave me purpose. I tried to convince myself that I maybe even had an emotional connection, or feelings for her before I thought of her need and desire to want me. Pathetic.  
And now, I was alone. Mycroft did not hire another therapist for me. No one ever came to the house either. Only the local paperboy or a delivery man (heartbreakingly enough, when he stopped by to deliver a package, that was the highlight of my day). I was pitiful. Mycroft himself stopped coming around. Instead, he would send Anthea over to check on me and to see if I needed anything. She wasn't any fun herself since she kept to that damn phone, and she would rarely bring Adalynn with her. I guess seeing Adalynn was better than nothing. She was a lot bigger now, nine years old I think.  
Even with Butler Taylor, Maid Kate, and Cook Grace always around, I felt alone. I stayed indoors. I had no reason to be outside other than school. I was completely antisocial.  
I'm going crazy.  
I wasn't going crazy because of lack of human communication and connection, hell no. I was going crazy from the boredom. Ever since Ms. Lang left my life, I had nothing interesting inside it. Damn, I missed her. I was going insane trying to look for something even close to what she and I had. I was chasing what every addict wants: the unquenchable high. Maybe I was seriously addicted. I had withdrawal symptoms; I raged and I sulked over her absence. I would probably put myself in danger to try and feel the same chemicals I felt when I was with her. No matter who I chose, how I did it, when or where, it all felt the same: unsatisfying. I wanted more, and more, and more.  
Oh god. She was right. I'm just a fucking pawn. Chasing this feeling like a dog chasing its tail.  
…  
I couldn't believe it. Two years had gone by and I was still stuck in too many yesterdays. A whole two years I felt I wasn't even a part of, just in the background of the time. It had forgotten about me. I even possibly forgot about it. I still thought about Ms. Lang often. But I knew I could do nothing to fix it. No one was good enough, not like her. I had given up on the idea.  
The hungry needs got worse before they got better. I exhausted my body to the point of involuntary shutdown. I was a danger to myself, willing to do almost anything to feel something. Totally losing who I was just for a hit of the drug. Who was I anymore but a walking zombie? Always hungry, always lingering, numb. I was tired of feeling numb. Three years of nothing but white walls in my head and emotionless opinionated actions. I loved the feeling of being in numb in the beginning. I wasn't going to get hurt. Now, I craved it. That high point of an orgasmic inducement just wasn't abundant. Not even close. I needed real pain. Pleasure and pain.  
I was close to finishing my third year of university. Thus meaning after spring break, summer was to come. I hated the summer. It was always so hot, uncomfortable, and it forced me to dress in anything less than a button-downs and slacks. Displeasing. I did not enjoy the summer sun or the advancement of more people out. More people to possibly help with my addiction. Instead, I stayed at home in my basement (the morgue), keeping the temperature at 30 degrees Fahrenheit. It was just an excuse to dress in heavier clothes.  
I often did summer classes, or at least tried. My acceptance was never for sure. There wasn't much to do at home. Watching the telly gave me a headache; reading and writing about anything turned into nothing quickly, and that became boring. God, I was bored. I practiced dissection on frogs, rats, and even baby piglets. But what I really wanted was to practice on a human. According to the university, I would have to wait until the fourth year before I was advanced enough for that. My patience was wearing thin with each passing moment.  
During my time, near the end of my third year, I made, a friend? Hardly, more of an acquaintance. His name was Trevor. He was the same year as me. He happened to be in my thanatology class. It wasn't a coincidence since it was a general class everyone had to take in the medical field. He was studying to become a cardiologist. Trevor was a nice guy; he sat by me, sometimes even talked to me. But he mainly cheated off me on tests. Trevor was enjoyable to be around; he always had interesting stories to tell of his time of living in India, Brazil, Japan, and even New York with his father and mother. He came from, not money, but gold. Maybe even more than Mycroft. I was always curious as to why he chose this school instead of something like Yale or Harvard. Surprisingly, the more I got to know him during lunches, studying in the library, and invitations to go to a couple parties (I never went though), I soon found out why he chose a low-pressure school for his stressful career choice. Trevor Gallagher loved drugs. Any drug would do. Narcotics, injections, inhalations, snorting, he was game. Aside from bragging about his money, he shamelessly flaunted his drug use.  
Out of all the people Trevor could have been "friends" with (did I dare use that word?), he chose me. He always sat by me, and always tried to involve me in things. Always trying to make me laugh. Which was a hard thing to do. Always. He even came over to my place once, drunk all my liquor, and passed out in my bathroom floor. He was a reckless child. So self destructive, acting like everything was okay and he had it under control when he and I both knew he didn't. Maybe that was why I stuck around him, put up with him. I was just like him a backward sense.  
…  
Spring break.  
It was spring now. Everyone was packing up to go to beaches or other countries. Just some time away from school. Not me. I stayed home, away from people, the sun, and the living. I was better off when school was in session. Less of a risk. Less time to be dumb.  
My phone buzzed.  
Now, I wasn't much for communicational devices. Anthea gave them a bad name. The ability to become so dissolved into a tiny screen was tragic to watch. I just kept a cell phone for the simple use of texting. Texting was an amazing thing. No need to actually use vocals to speak. Instant messages to others was enough. Plus, some of the professors assigned homework that way. I needed it.  
Party at Amy's tonight. You coming? -TG  
No. -RA  
Too bad. -TG  
I stared at my phone very confused. "Too bad"? What did that mean?  
Before I had any time to react or think about it, Trevor was busting down my door to my study room. I was typing a paper that wasn't due until spring break was over.  
"Come on man! You're going to that party," he said, hustling over to me.  
"Why?"  
"Why? Why the fuck not!" He threw his hands up.  
"I have better things to do."  
I went to turn my chair away from him but he grabbed it, spinning me around forcefully to face him. "Unless you have some hot strippers coming to fuck you, I don't think you have anything better to do Adler!"  
I stared at him from under my hair.  
"Come on man! Live a little! Free drinks and horny girls rubbing up on your dick. You can't tell me that doesn't sound like fun."  
Oh God! He was right. Damn him.  
"Fine," I mumbled under my breath.  
He jerked me from my seat by the hand and we dashed out the door.  
The music, lights, and people's voices were blasting from the house by a huge lake. It was only 10pm and some people already looked shit-faced. There were more girls there than guys. Looked more like a slumber party than a regular party. Trevor and I made our way past the bumping and grinding plastic plastered people. The air was hot, clustered, and filled with sexual tension. God, so fucking tempting.  
We found ourselves at the table where all the alcoholic drinks were sitting. Trevor poured some in a red cup and handled it to me, dropping a pill inside it.  
"What is that?" I asked.  
It began to fizzle.  
"Fun."  
"I'm serious."  
"I know man, you are always so serious! Relax and have fun!" he chanted.  
He threw his arms around me, moving me towards the party, pushing me from my comfort zone. Not even a couple steps away in and some random girl was rubbing up on me. Fuck.  
I'm not sure how I got that drunk. I don't remember drinking anything more than what Trevor gave me inside that red cup. What was the white pill he dropped inside it? My mind was scattered. When I tried to look at people's auras I was struck with dizziness by their new strobe light form. I wasn't sure if my senses were fucked up because I was drunk, or because everyone around me was drunk. More than drunk than me anyway. My head was spinning. I felt fuzzy. Warm. Really hot, even sweating possibly. My vision was blotchy, utterly disordered. I felt tingles when I touched people. Strangely enough, I had a very uncomfortable erection I couldn't shake off. It just kept throbbing, pulsing. Ugh, it was driving me crazy. What it the alcohol? The pill Trevor gave me? I wasn't sure anymore. I needed to release soon or I was going to explode.  
I felt someone grab my collar while I was making my way around people. It was time to go home. But instead, I was being dragged away from my advancement and slammed down on a couch. A bunch of people crowded around me, staring down at me with smug drunk smiles on their faces. I knew they were talking but I couldn't understand what they were saying. The girls were laughing, tripping over each other, and their voices sounded like high pitched screams. More skin than necessary was showing. The guys fondled the wasted girls and paid no attention to me.  
"I'll pay you twenty bucks to make out with your friend Silence over there." A female voice giggled.  
My head was spinning, too many voices.  
"Twenty bucks? Alright!" It was Trevor talking. His voice was uniquely deep, yet scratchy. I finally found Trevor. He was sitting beside me, absolutely drunk. He was smiling at me, trying not to laugh. Plastered bastard.  
"You ready man? Twenty bucks," he said, shrugging.  
I just stared at him. I was hearing what he said but as far as understanding it? No. Twenty bucks, what? Ready for what? There were too many people around for me to concentrate.  
He leaned in towards me. I could feel his body heat rising, crashing over me. He was closing in on me. Oh god what am I going to do? What do I do?  
Just go with it.  
Honestly, I wasn't one for kissing. I felt kissing, touching another human's mouth with my own was unappealing. The chemistry behind it was very complex, the hormones were being released just from that soft, mushy touch. Too much. Kissing always had meaning behind it. Sentimental meaning that I wasn't emotionally stable enough to deal with.  
Oh shit his lips touched mine. They were terribly soft, with just the right shape. They caressed mine gently, even with his drunken state, his touch was fleecy. He placed a hand on my right cheek and fell more into the kiss. And before I knew it, I was kissing back. It was the alcohol talking, not me. I couldn't do this sober. Kissing just wasn't my cup of tea. Trevor made it very hard to resist though. His plump, pink lips hugged mine in a drunken slur. It was charming. He moved his lips just right to make me fall into it even more. Soon, his tongue slipped into my mouth without my approval. Oh god. His tongue was hot, tasting like some fruity drink, a cocktail? Maybe. His saliva was now getting in my mouth, mixing with my confused taste buds. I had this odd tang in my mouth, and having it mixed with Trevor's mellow silvia was over stimulating. I couldn't help but want more of it. Damn, he was good. But hell, he was good at everything.  
I don't know how long we were kissing, I was lost in the feeling and the smack of it. I was glad I was drunk; it felt good to know I wasn’t sober and not responsible for my actions. Trevor pulled away. Dizzy, dazed, and sad about his depart, I nearly fell on top of him.  
"Pay up!" Trevor shouted, laughing.  
Everyone was laughing, talking, and screaming at each other because of the loud music, while I sat there silently, unsure of what was going on. Drunk on Trevor's kiss.  
"Come on Adler." He grabbed my arm and pulled me from the couch, dragging me away from the crowd of drunk young adults.  
Trevor Gallagher just made out with me for twenty bucks. Money he did not need. It had to be the alcohol talking.  
...  
The next morning, I woke up outside in a lawn chair with a random girl straddled around my neck. I couldn’t remember who she was or how she ended up sleeping on me. Her hair was short, pixie cut; it had a funky purple dye to it. She was dark skinned, small, very skinny for her age, which I hoped was over eighteen, just in case. She smelt like cigarettes and weed. I was playing a game in my mind of how to get her off me and not wake her up. But quickly, my patience ran thin, and I was about to kick her off me. My head was beginning to throb into an agonizing pain. I felt sick. The hangover was setting in.  
From the corner of my eye I saw Trevor. He swung around, trying to look for me I assumed. He wasn't wear a shirt, exposing a perfect six pack; his black hair was a mess. Once he found me, he struggled to come over, hopping over hungover bodies, empty cups, and glass bottles.  
"We need to go!" he whispered.  
I looked at the girl laying on top of me.  
"Oh shit man," he said, grabbing her waist and peeling her up off me.  
I shot up, nearly falling back over. The blood was rushing through my body. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears. Everything was spinning, shaking, tilting. Oh lord. My eyes watered. I was going to be sick.  
"I gotta be home in fifteen minutes or my parents are going to kill me!"  
We began our journey back home. I left the girl with purple hair lying dead asleep in the lawn chair. I still couldn’t remember who she was or how we met.  
…  
After that party, crazy, wild, and intimate party, Trevor and I hung out A LOT. Every day. Well it was more like he came to my house, got drunk, and played with my morgue equipment. He pretended to be a mortician cutting up dead bodies, adding some sexual foreplay into his comedic ignorance. He was an interesting person to watch. He always gave me something to look at.  
Sometimes we would go out to bars, clubs, or parties, flirt with random people, get laid, and drink until we couldn't form words anymore. I could honestly say that when I was around Trevor, I felt happy, free, and always having fun. Trevor was maybe, my friend. My best friend. The first one ever.  
The kiss.  
Of course, I knew all we could ever be was friends because once we returned to school from spring break, he made it clear to me that he was not gay and made sure that I wasn't either. He assured me that the kiss was just a drunk party game. But why? Trevor didn't need the twenty bucks, and he really seemed to like the kiss just as much as I did....Maybe he was in denial of his sexual preference.  
I was offended that having a friend was defined by sexuality, so I just told him I was asexual. It was my only choice since he found it odd I never dated. Orientation was never really a concern for me until now. Trevor often bullied young university boys for being homosexual, calling them fags, queers, fairies and much worse. Such a shame that he was really an ugly person on the inside. So much like me. With his recklessness behavior, free spirited personality, adrenaline junky lifestyle, and awfully mean sense of humor, he reflected the most terrible side of me.  
Trevor Gallagher was a horrible person, and he brought out monster out of me.  
Trevor's favorite kind of high was the high he got from snorting cocaine. Something about the white nirvana gave him an addicting satisfaction. He would have a stupid smile on his face for hours. He had so much energy I could never keep up with him. He was fast with words, movements, and ideas on how to entertain us. I could only imagine what he felt on the inside. However, I knew how he felt on the outside because his body clearly showed it. Increase heart rate, higher blood pressure, sweating, itchy, and dilated pupils. He was a tornado.  
I never knew how he felt until I tried the drugs myself. He made it look fun and like an experience that one would never forget. And I was all about experiences. Once I hit that white line, there was no going back. The burning sensation in my nose made me feel weak at first; I couldn't stand. Once it fully entered my system I was, perhaps a new man. I could feel the effects it had on every in ch of my body. My heart rate increased. My mind and thoughts were racing, yet my senses were going crazy steady. I could clearly hear voices twenty inches from me. Everyone's auras shined blindly in my eyes, then dimmed, and shined again like a flame. People were even easier to read. I wanted to run and scream as loud as I could. I felt great. Truthfully I had never felt better. Not a care or worry in the world. It was just Trevor, me, and this white line of cocaine to guide us. Maybe this was my favorite new drug. I felt great for once in my shitty life.  
…  
I had been living in this house for over two years now, and I have never been inside my own mother's room. The house was mine now, she had no right to privacy. She was dead for fuck’s sakes. None of the keys that came with the house opened the door. At first, I didn't let it bother me. The less lies I knew about my mother, the less shame, disappointment, and hatred I carried towards her. But now though, after doing a line of coke, I was damned if I did not get that door down. I was tired of being locked out of portions of her life.   
I stormed upstairs, nearly tripping on the way. I stumbled down the hallway. Her black door was at the end of the hallway, mocking me. I was going to get it open even if it killed me.  
"Taylor!" I screamed.  
Before I knew it, he was behind me. That was one thing I hated about Butler Taylor. He was always there when I needed him, right there. It was kinda nerve wracking, him watching me like a hawk.  
"Yes, Mr. Adler?" His charming voice spoke.  
I jumped at his quick arrival.  
"I want this door down," I said, licking my lips and pointing at the door.  
"I'll get someone to come open it tomorrow sir."  
"No, I want it now."  
He seemed unmoved at my demand. I wanted it down now. Not tomorrow, now.  
"Get me the axe from the shed," I ordered him.  
"But Sir..."  
"Now, Taylor."  
"Sir. You'll get hurt," Taylor said sympathetically.  
"NOW!" I barked.  
He disappeared from my sight to hopefully, no, he better return with my request.  
I stared at the door before me. I had no idea what was on the other side. But from the past three years, it seemed that my mother had some pretty interesting secrets. I wondered what kinds of secrets could be on the other side.  
Taylor returned, holding the axe. His face showed worry as he approached me, not offering the weapon.  
"Mr. Adler I can have the door open by tomorrow morning," he pleaded. "No need to vandalize your mother's property."  
I laughed and took the weapon from him. "My mother's property? She's dead Taylor! It's my property now and I'll do what I please with it."  
He was standing close enough to get hurt. He had to go.  
"Move," I said, directing him away with the axe.  
He regretfully moved to the side, giving me room to take the first swing at the black door.  
It definitely was the cocaine acting as I hit the door mercilessly. I didn’t know where else I was obtaining my energy but from the drug. I swung maliciously, dangerously. I was lost in this cocaine high and the wonderful release I was feeling.  
There was a gaping hole in the door. I reached inside and unlocked the door. It opened with a loud squeak following it. I stepped inside, revealing a bright, blinding, glowing white color mixed with kicked up dust.  
I could not believe what I was barely seeing.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? Find out next Monday! Trevor Gallagher is Roman's friend in university. Victor Trevor was Sherlock's friend (unsure when and for how long) Coincidence? I THINK NOT. Actually, it probably is. Trevor isn't the best influence on Roman as you can see. He is now doing coke. First following in his mother’s steps, now his father’s? Hot damn. But check in Monday to find out what Roman finds! Chapter 13: The Leather Words and The Suicide. The name itself sounds promising right? A lot of vandalizing and emotions. And a suicide? Oh my. All this any waayyy more Monday! Love you guys! Review, follow, favorite please :D I LOVE the support.


	13. Chapter 13: The Leather Words and The Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Littler Summary: So Roman has broken into his mother's room. What shall he find? Let's just say we got some tears, some anger, some murder plotting, some feels ect. Then a suicide? Oh my! Who could it be? Forgive me now for my limited knowledge of things and stuff. Enjoy~ !

Chapter 13: The Leather Words and The Suicide  
The thick, dusty air seeped into my lungs, forcing me to cough uncontrollably. My eyes were on fire from the garnished white glowing in front of me. It had been maybe twenty years since this room was last opened. The dust was thicker than the air.  
I rubbed my eyes to the point of near tears before I could see again. The walls, white. All ten windows lacking curtains were clearly shining white from the incoming summer sun. Surprisingly, the room was rather cold. A breeze shifted in the levitating air. Queen sized bed covered in discolored white cotton sheets. God, it reminded me of Mr. Heartly’s guest bedroom; until I looked up. A portrait of my mother hung on the wall. She was nude. Dammit Irene. Although, her body looked beautiful, laying perfectly across a black leather couch. Her blue eyes looked directly at me. Her rich colored hair was pinned into a 1930's style. She was graceful but really naked.  
I shifted my eyes to dissolve the image of her. I looked around, noticing nothing but empty space. It didn't look like a room my mother would sleep in. So plain and bright. A fireplace was at the other end of the room, by the door. It still had ashes from its last use. Twenty years since this room was last used. Twenty. Everything was still in good shape besides the layers of dust. The temperature also had some effect on some of the things.   
A closet sat in another corner. My feet unconsciously began to hurtle to it. It was too late to not open it. Far too late. My hand had already started twisting the doorknob. When it was opened, motion sensor lights strained to turn on. One by one the bulbs in the closet lit up, revealing two lines of clothing. To the left were bright vibrate colors, pricey clothes by the look of it. A woman's choice. Dresses, fluffy tops, heels, and jewelry to match were placed on shelves. And to my left was nothing but black for as long as I could see. I stepped inside her realm. Did I really want to know? I glanced back and forth at the variety of clothing before me, mainly paying attention to the black side. Everything felt like leather and lace. I stopped, taking one of the outfits on the right side out from the group. I held it, adhered. It was just a simple leather tight top with matching bottoms that was still shining like brand new. Like… a bikini. I stared at it. Piecing all this together, seconds later I knew exactly what I was holding.  
I smiled deviantaly. "You've been a bad girl, mother."  
Dominatrix. Detective Clint's words finally made sense. This, this was what she meant by "dirty work". Dominatrixes on average can make more money than a congressman if the job is done right. My mother obtained her money from authority, respect, and discipline. What an intelligent women, because by the looks of it, she knew how to play the game, and she did so well. As Mycroft told me, "she was only the only women to bring a nation to it's knees". Damn was he right. But it only took one man to do the same to her. The same man who created me. All in the name of justice, but the consequences... This idea of dirty work was very interesting and exciting. Maybe my addiction to sexual pleasure was more than just a permanent side effect from a poorly tested drug. It ran in my blood, the need for more pleasure and pain, control and freedom, bondage, and release. Of course, I wasn't just of Holmes blood. I was also an Adler and at this point of my life I was more of an Adler than anything else, even human.  
I finally took my eyes off her leather and lace collection and moved down, discovering leather gloves, heels of diverse shape and size, crops of different size, thickness, and length. So many unique, pleasurable toys. Everything was black, shiny, and gold to the eye. It all looked like so much fun.  
Reaching the end of the long closet, I looked up, unknowing of what I would find. Before me, a long overcoat hung at the center of it all. It was black with discrete patterns in it. Six buttons lined up equally. Accidentally, my fingers felt the fabric. It was rough and scratchy. I grabbed the hanger from which it hung carried it out of the closet. I wanted a better and clearer look at it. My cocaine-filled eyes were too distorted to see it in the poorly lit closet. I carefully laid the coat on my mother's bed. I scanned it with the best of my focus. It rushed to me, adding a throbbing pain in my head. It had to have been Sherlock's coat. It was hanging in my mother's closet like a trophy. She kept my father’s coat hung in her closet of affairs as a selfish trophy. How pathetic Irene.  
Fuck. My mother kept so much from me, only in the past couple years I had started discovering just how vile of a women she was. Yes, she was a good mother to me, kudos to that, but her life outside of that was just unpleasant. She left my father's jacket and scarf as some a souvenir rather a remembrance of the love she never had. Nor my father or my mother love each other, it was just a game to my mother and a duty to my father. Knowing that angered me. I was created out of hate, evil, and payback. I couldn't help but feel that I was paying their mistakes. My existence was a burden to them both, now my mother was dead and Sherlock might as well be dead too. I would never be good enough for him. Irene abandoned me and so did he, basically. I grabbed the overcoat and threw it on the floor in a burst of anger.  
"I didn't ask to be born!" I screamed at the coat.  
I picked up the axe I set next to the closet door. My pulse was racing, my heart was pounding endlessly in my chest. I could almost feel it beating, a knot was forming there. My eyes were straining not to cry. My cocaine trip was turning bad.  
I swung the axe unconsciously, it crashed in the dresser beside me.  
"I hate you!" I yelled driving the axe back in the dresser, making another gash in it.  
This high was sinking. I couldn't hold it back any longer. My red eyes were getting worse only because water started to surface. My vision was cluttered together, seeing nothing but blurry pictures of the metal axe swing into unmoving objects. Dust built up for twenty years was being kicked up, only causing the tears to get worse. All the repressed emotion was finally coming to the surface. My mother’s abandonment, because of her possible terminal illness. Either way she was going to die, but she didn't have to hide this whole other world from me. I had a right to know. Now I'm finding out what kind of sick, the twisted person she was. Just because she left me all this money and divine living didn’t make anything better. Fuck no. It turned me into an arrogant asshole. Money couldn't buy me comfort, happiness, or peace of mind. I was bitter, antisocial, miserable, and reckless. For god’s sake! I was cooked out of my brain, swinging an axe, aimlessly pretending that it was either her or Sherlock. Damn him for being so careless. I was everything he did not want to happen. Disgrace. I quit living up to his, no, Mycroft's expectations to become a mini Sherlock because yet at the same time, I wasn't allowed. If I dared to even be within three hundred feet of him, I would be shot dead. Maybe I should try.  
Straying from reality into this irritable mental expression, I couldn't hear anything but the loud grunts that came from my foul mouth and the bashing, crashing, and lashing of the axe hitting in the walls, the dresser, and closet door. I think I even swung at the floor a couple times. This mad explosion surrounded me.  
Suddenly I felt the presence of someone in the room with me. I could feel the warmth of their aura sneaking up on me. I quickly turned, my eyes bloodshot, crying like a child. I must have appeared very distasteful. I held the axe firmly in hands, ready to swing at any given moment.  
It was Mycroft.  
I straightened myself up, smoothing my shirt and pushing my hair back into place. I wiped my nose grossly on my sleeve and tried to mask my medicated eyes.  
"What are you doing Mr. Adler?" He sounded more than annoyed.  
It had almost been a year since I last saw Mycroft, and he decides to show up right when I have a moment of bottled emotions finally releasing. Fair weather friend? The opposite actually. He loved making an ass out of me.  
"Making firewood." I was sarcastically.  
He leaned against the doorway with his hands in his expensive suit pockets. He was scanning me looking for any injuries or potential danger. Sighing deeply and giving me rolled eyes, he said, "I see you found Sherlock's overcoat." He glanced at it then back at me.  
"My mother was a dominatrix."  
I tightened my grip on the axe. From day one, she was a liar. This life she lived before me, I had to find out on my own instead of someone laying it all out for me. The more I found out, the less respect I had for her. She was a ruthless, unmodeled criminal. I just happened to be her miscalculated offspring. I was dumb enough to carry out her name.  
Mycroft could see the contemplation on my face, he was pushing my buttons. "Not to scrutinize Mr. Adler, but you are no saint yourself."  
He wandered slowly over to me with his hands in his pockets, looking around at the mess I made, not looking surprised. He stood at two feet distance, glaring, concentrating on me.  
"I'm no criminal," I said, clenching my teeth.  
"No, but aren't you guilty of the same strange asphyxiated erotic pleasure?" His head fell slightly left.  
I didn't have to answer that question. He and I both knew the answer. This addiction ran in the blood, obviously. My mother's collection only provided me with more evidence that this codependency was hereditary just like my autism.  
"The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, they say."  
He was more than getting on my nerves. Who was he to tell me my emotional carryout was wrong?  
"Being so preeminent on cocaine, you're well on your way to being just like your father." He smiled that sickly grin.  
I felt my clutch on the axe squeeze tighter, to the point that my palms were burning.  
"I'm nothing like my father."  
For some reason, that came as an insult to me. Over the past years, i was well informed that I wasn't him in no way shape or form, I would never be like him, and I would never be good enough. I accepted that happily. If being miserable and an asshole meant I had to give up all my hopes and wants to re-fulfill his, fuck that. I was fine being who I was. And my mother? Please. As if. But the way Mycroft went about it irked me. I could just pick up this axe and...and... Oh my god.  
"You aren't a murderer either Mr. Adler," he said from under his brows.  
As the words came marching out of his mouth, I came to realize my clasp on the axe was dangerous. I held it in my hands just at the right angle to where in the blink of an eye, I could lift it up and take a hit against Mycroft's head.  
I imagined the whole scene playing out in front of me.  
I pick the axe up in a blind fury of anger against Mycroft for comparing me to my lying mother and my impeccable father. I swing, cracking Mycroft in the head and killing him almost instantly. His body would fall to the floor, and just like Mr. Heartly, blood would spill everywhere after pulling the axe from his head. After I hacked up and dismembered his body, I would walk away and enjoy a glass of whine. How would I get away with it? I wouldn't. Plead insanity, it would makes sense. Sure, I would be in Ashworth for the rest of my life, but what life was I really missing out on? I would be sending the world a message, the Holmes are just as human as you are. Nothing to fear. And one foolish Holmes man pissed me off past boiling point. It was brilliant plan.  
Coming back to reality, I knew I wouldn't do that. I physically and mentally could not handle that again. I relaxed my grip completely of the axe. It fell from my hands, smashing against the floor along with my anger. I couldn't believe I had a thought like that. Picturing Mycroft's death thanks to me. Oh god. After all, he saved me from Mr. Heartly and saved me from being put in prison for the rest of my life. I should be thankful, not planning his murder. He was only trying to save me, but from what this time?  
"I envy Adalynn." My voice was cracking, holding back the tears again. I looked at him helplessly, water glazing over my blood red eyes. I put my head in my hands muffling my speech. "This...would been a lot...easier if you...were just my dad."  
I stood there sobbing, crying, wailing like a child. Balling myself up, retreating every mature intention inside me. God I was tired of this emptiness. I couldn’t do this anymore.  
Suddenly, I felt two large arms wrap around me, engulfing me in a warm, stiff embrace, pulling me in tight. "I'm sorry Roman." His words were right in my ear. Mycroft was the one hugging me.  
Mycroft Holmes was hugging me. Showing affection to someone other than his daughter? I must have really looked like an atrocity. I was a pathetic fool. His embrace only lasted for a few seconds, enough for me to understand his remorse for me. He let go of me and began to straighten my shirt. He didn’t look directly at me but I think that his eyes might have been watering. I don't know.  
"Now, Mr. Adler...pull yourself together. You are too old to be acting so childish."  
His words contradicted his actions. He hugged me, nearly crying, and now he was telling me to basically man up.  
"Why did you come here in the first place?" I asked, wiping my eyes.  
"Other than to stop your destructive temper tantrum?" A weak smile popped on his face. "I needed to talk to you."  
"About?"  
"In these past two years, I've basically left you alone. Mainly to see how you'd maintain and adapt on your own." He groaned. "Mr. Adler what has gotten into you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You completely isolate yourself, only leaving your residence to feed that...uncanny problem of yours." His face coiled. "And associate yourself with that arrogant wealthy American boy Trevor Gallagher, is that his name?"  
How does he know about Trevor? ...Butler Taylor, damn you.  
"He’s a friend from school."   
"Hmm. Friend?" He cocked his head up. "I'm not sure Mr. Gallagher has friends."  
"Why not?"  
"Other than his low academic performance and his dependence to drugs? People like him don't have friends. It's called the Sinking Ship Effect."  
Sinking Ship Effect - ?  
I looked at him, puzzled. I didn't understand what he was implying.  
"The Sinking Ship Effect is when someone who clearly knows they have a problem, like an addiction, and they surround themselves with loved ones who care about them and who put in so much time and emotion to help them. Meanwhile the addict is doing more harm than good." He took a breath. "Eventually, once the addict realizes their ship is sinking, they try to drown everyone on board with them."  
I probably wasn't aware that I was just gawking mindlessly at him. I never thought something like that about Trevor, could that somehow have some reflection back on me? I'm not outgoing like Trevor, and as far as loved ones go, Adalynn and Mycroft were the closest things I had. And Adalynn was oblivious to my habits.  
"You are just another passenger on his ship Mr. Adler."  
Trevor's my friend….right? He was the one who talked to me first, the one who put out all the effort for me to be his friend. He was just lonely, like me. I was someone he could talk to without being judged. We had a lot of common interests. It was only fate that we became friends. I was happy to be around him, I felt alive again. And, I was sure that when he was with me, he felt the same.  
Then again, maybe I was just a passenger. I never stopped him from doing stupid things that may have gotten him killed. I let him party and drink all he wanted; it kept him happy. I let him do whatever he wanted. It probably didn't help that I gave in under pressure to him so easily, doing exactly what he did. Hey, he made it look like fun and it really was. I didn’t regret any of the experiences I shared with him. But now, to know that I was influencing his demise and even joining in on it didn't sit well with me. I was stuck. If I turned against him to try and help him, he would only get worse, if I let him be he would get worse. Fuck.  
"I want you to stay away from him," Mycroft spoke.  
"He's….my friend."  
"Not anymore."  
"I'm old enough to make my own choices."  
His face was getting irritated again, speaking sharply with me. "Mr. Adler I strongly advise you listen." He sighed. "You don't need someone like that controlling your life."  
"What are you going to do, ship him off to Korea too? Plus, the only one trying to control my life is you," I retort.  
We locked eyes in a staring contest. Not exactly to see who would blink first, but more like who would back down first. Over time, I got better at standing my guard with Mycroft, he was too old to put up much a fight with me anyways. I was beating him at his own game.  
"I see. Until then, Mr. Adler."  
"Until when?"  
Mycroft turned around on his feet, marching out the door looking pissed off. Did I win?  
Butler Taylor followed in after him.  
"You okay, sir?" he asked.  
I didn't answer. I was too caught up in watching Mycroft leave. Was he hinting at a new game? Was it a threat? I hated to be threatened. What did "until then" fucking mean?  
"Clean this up." I stepped over Sherlock's coat. "Burn the coat."  
…  
Now don't get me wrong, I did take Mycroft's warning into consideration. I started examining Trevor more often, noticing his attention seeking habits and risky behaviors for no reason. The Sinking Ship Effect was clearly present but that didn't mean I had to separate myself from him entirely. So, that following weekend I invited Trevor to come over to hang out. I would do my own experiment on him. I rewarded him with a shot of tequila when he wasn't putting treachery on himself. I think he was starting to catch on because he sat in my study room chair for a good hour, just talking. I don't remember what we talked about, I had a couple shots myself. I assumed he said something about his father having an affair and something about all the hot actresses he swore one day he would fuck. Mistakenly, I brought up Ms. Lang. I told him about how she was my therapist (I didn't say what for), and that her and I slept together for some time. He really enjoyed that story. I didn't though. I was drunk, I shouldn't have been thinking about her after two years. Was she even still alive?  
When the liquor wasn't entertaining him anymore, he offered to pay for some cocaine or molly, then we could go out to a club. It was now time to move on to the next part of my test. I told him I quit doing drugs and partying. He looked at me with a dead stare for a minute, then busted out in a humorous laugh. I wasn't kidding though. He tried to convince me otherwise for over twenty minutes, but I wasn't going to consent. In some fashion, I was serious. I was moving onto my fourth year of university, and it was time to grow up. I had to do this for me, and for him. I was the rehab and he was the drugs. Within twenty five minutes after our debate, he left. I wasn't going to stop him. I let him leave to fulfill his need. I understood why he chased that high. It felt amazing. I was a prisoner just like him, but the desire became incurable after Ms. Lang's departure. I ran, and ran for the feeling but it never came. So I stop running and started walking.  
After that night, I realized Mycroft was right. I would go to hell before I told him that though. Trevor was just looking for another passenger on his sinking ship. I didn't want to be on it anymore, man overboard. Abandon ship!  
When summer time came, Trevor and I were drifting apart. Of course, I wasn't happy about it, but I knew that it was the best thing to do. We only hung out once a week or every other weekend. I was no longer fun to him anymore, I stopped doing drugs and I rarely drank. It was awfully difficult, but after a week I made it through. If only Trevor could do the same. I missed him, but work left me busy. Mycroft was able to get me a small job as a embalmer's assistant with lady named Molly Hooper. She was a nervous wreck all the time, always looking depressed, and her self-esteem and aura were very dim all the time, a sapphire sky blue. I wasn't sure since her aura was always so faint, cloudy and shadowy. Because of stress at work and home (raising two boys she told me), she looked years older than her actual age. She was hardly happy with her marriage, and constantly had casual affairs with co-workers. I plainly saw it. On the other hand, she was good at her job, sweet natured, kindhearted, and really just miserable on the inside. Shame.  
However, she seemed to enjoy my company. I made her laugh at my lack of patience with the embalming equipment, and the one time I had to crawl inside one of the modern cremators to retrieve a bone fragment, was a terrifying experience. I feared someone would turn the machine on and fry me to pieces. I basically fell out of the machine onto my face frantically. She was crying from laughing so hard. I was glad that I was able to entertain her, she looked younger when she smiled.  
Molly knew Sherlock was my father. Mycroft must have told her, or maybe the older I got, the more I looked like him. It showed. She often told me I looked a lot like him, acting like him to people other than her and she liked that. I treated her with respect because she treated me with respect. She told me stories of how Sherlock would insult her unknowingly. "He says the meanest things sometimes." Molly cried a lot because of the things he said. No wonder she was emotionally a mess. My father was a heartless bastard.  
I enjoyed working for her though, the job was easy and the closest thing I got to being a real licensed mortician. I did all the duties of a real mortician, except that when I did autopsies (rarely), Molly had to supervise me. I was mainly watching rather than actually participating. That was what I was dying to do, actually dive in and get lost in the human anatomy. A new body meant a fresh game. You start all over, searching for the same things of course, but each body was different, special in its own way. God, I couldn't wait to get my license and practice in my basement.  
…  
"I'm telling you, they're getting younger and younger each time they come in," Molly shouted to me from across the room.  
I was in the prep room, washing the apparatus for the autopsy.  
"People are getting stupider and stupider," I called back to her.  
"That's for sure."  
After I finished cleaning the equipment, I laid the materials down, perfectly aligning them with each other. Splendid. I walked cautiously while handling everything. Didn't want to drop it and repeat the process.  
Opening the shifting door to the morgue, I held the tools close to me. Out of curiosity, my vision landed on the body laying on the table. I dropped the tray and put my hand over my mouth in shock.  
"What?!" Molly asked, suddenly afraid and alert, "What's wrong?"  
On the table, right in front of me, was someone I never thought I would see laying there. No! Too soon. He was so young. He had so much going for him. God dammit! Trevor Gallagher was dead! His body was on that table. Skin pale, almost blue, unforgettable lips had no color, his black hair was greasy. No emotion. Oh god. His blood red aura wasn't there anymore. Trevor was just a corpse. No, he can't be dead, I just talked to him two days ago. We were supposed to meet up for some drinks soon. School was starting in a couple weeks.  
My legs were giving out on me, Molly had to hold me up. I could not believe this. My friend was dead. Gone. No!  
"What's wrong Mr. Adler?!" She tried to look at me.  
"M…-m..Mycroft!" I muttered from somewhere in me.  
This had to have been Mycroft's doing. He killed Trevor. But why? I stopped doing drugs, and Trevor and I hardly hung out. He had no reason to kill him.  
Guilty of association.  
I abruptly ran out the door, leaving Molly confused and scared.  
I wanted to run to Mycroft's house, but he lived eight blocks away from the morgue. I had to get a cab. I didn’t have the patience to deal with traffic though, but if I was going to run, I would get lost. A cab was a horribly good idea. FUCK!  
My manners flew right out the window somewhere down the road. Out the cab window. I was barging into his home uninvited. I wasn't even sure where I was going. This house was so big, I didn't remember the lay-out. Fuck. I darted down a random hallway, opening random doors and finding nothing. My temper was getting worse the longer I failed to find Mycroft. Was he hiding from me? That sly bastard wasn't going to get away from me. Hell no!  
Finally, after about five or six tries, I found Mycroft sitting in the dining room, drinking some fine white wine. Was he expecting me? His position said it all.  
"You killed Trevor Gallagher!" I accused out loud.  
"I don't know what you are talking about." He took a sip from his glass.  
"Don't play naive! I know you did it!"  
"Where's your evidence?"  
He had me there. I had no evidence against him. I just looked at Trevor's body and that was it. But it made sense that Mycroft would kill him. I still associated myself with him (barely), even after he told me not to. His warning was weak and did not hint at a possible murder.  
However, I did clean up my act. A little.  
"Papers are saying he was found at some drug party, dead." He pointed to the paper beside him. "Were you present, Mr. Adler?"  
"No. I was at work, ask Molly."  
He's trying to pin this on me, but I had an actual alibi. I was working with Molly that night. She needed help cremating some bodies.  
"I see. Well, I'm sorry for your loss." His words carried no emotion or sympathy.  
"You take everyone I care about away from me." I could not look at him anymore.  
He sighed, exasperated, and tapped fingers on the table.  
"Mr. Adler, I did not kill Mr. Gallagher, and until you have proper evidence against me I suggest you be careful who you point fingers at."  
We locked eyes and began our mental battle. I couldn't lose, I had to break him down. I knew he killed Trevor. It may not have been Mycroft himself, but he hired someone to kill him.  
"You have two hours," he began.  
"For what?"  
"I'll give you two hours to find a proper prognosis. But!" He pointed a finger to me. "You will do this autopsy alone. No help."  
"And if I'm right?"  
"You won't be."  
I balled my fists up and turned to leave. I wasn't going to let him tear down my assumption. He killed Trevor to make sure I would no longer have anything to do with him. And he would make a shitty doctor. A waste. If this was a game to him, sure, I'll play. But not fairly.  
I was about cross the threshold of the door before Mycroft stopped me. "I know you are going crazy to become a mortician already, what better practice than cutting open your own best friend. Isn't that right Mr. Adler?" I could hear him smile as he spoke.  
…  
When I returned back to the morgue, I began my operation. Even though I was on borrowed time, it took a few minutes to get the courage to make that Y incision on Trevor. This was my best friend. There wasn't any injuries to the outer part of his body, only yellowish bruises on his arms where he shot up. The drug of choice would be found in his blood. Molly already took a sample of that before I could. We were still waiting for the results.  
I brought the scalpel up to his chest. I looked at him for a second. I hoped he shot up, got unconscious, and this would all be one sick joke. I couldn't just accept his death so quickly. But in order to prove Mycroft wrong, I had to put all emotional connections behind me. I pressed the blade to him, dragging it down to his upper chest. He did not move. Trevor was seriously dead. I hesitantly kept going. God. I made another incision on the other side, bringing it down, making a depression down his stomach, stopping a little above his belly-button. I was breathing dramatically to keep from passing out. Cutting open my friend for practice wasn't on my agenda...ever.  
I had to keep going. I could no longer look at Trevor's face so I put a blanket over it. I peeled back the skin, exposing him. His lungs were perfectly pink, his motionless heart still had blood circulating around it. I could see the beginnings of his intestines. Perfectly normal.  
1 hour left.  
I had an hour left and I had not found anything that suggested foul play. There were no wounds of any kind, inside or out. There had to be something, and if so it would rest internally. When I opened his stomach, I found nothing intoxicating, just undigested food. What could it be? I took more blood, tissue, and bone marrow samples.  
It would take about a half hour to an hour to the results back. I was on borrowed time. Fuck.  
While waiting on the results of the samples I took, I decided to do a head examination to look for contusions, cuts and/or soft spots. Soft spots indicate fractures, possible broken skull, internal bleeding in the brain causing death. Maybe a brain aneurysm? I didn't have time to check. Fuck.  
15 minutes left.  
The results finally came back. His bone marrow samples were fine. No deterioration from a position or gas. His tissues samples were a bit odd. The tissue in some places were disintegrated and almost burned at the ends. Possible overdose of a highly intoxicating drug? His blood sample confirmed my theory. There were above average levels of beta-endorphins as well as dangerously high levels of dopamine. Cardiac-arrest?  
10 minutes left.  
10 minutes left. I quickly read his last EKG outcome. His heart beat was 197. Blood pressure, 112/185. His heart was imploding. Couldn't have been cardiac-arrest. Oxygen 94% percent. No, no something wasn't right. Sure his vitals were all wrong and his body was haywire, but he was rather healthy, his heart was normal up until the moments of his very death. I was running out of time. Something killed him! What was it!?  
Times up  
As soon as Molly came in to tell me time was up, my phone vibrated. Someone was calling me. I answered out of breath from running around, "Hello?"  
"Well Mr. Adler?"  
Mycroft.  
"What do you concur?"  
I hung my head low, scanning Trevor's lab results over and over again. Something wasn't right. Cardiac-arrest didn't sound right. There was no way.  
Think Roman! Think!  
"Mr. Adler?" Mycroft asked.  
Ahh-HA!  
I found it. Scanning over the papers, I found what I had been looking for.  
"His beta-endorphins and dopamine levels were high because there a significantly large amount of Fentanyl in his system."  
"Mhm."  
"There's a fresh injection point on his arm." I glanced over to his arm. "There was more than a trace of heroin in his system."  
"Overdose?" Mycroft said.  
"His heroin was laced with Fentanyl, a drug that is thirty times more powerful than regular heroin. It's only sold to...experienced users. Of course his heart rate would have sped up and shut down...looking like cardiac-arrest."  
Even more reality hit me.  
"So cause of death Mr. Adler?"  
"...Accidental suicide." I swallowed those words, hard.  
The line was silent for a moment.  
"Good job, Mr. Adler."  
Mycroft hung up, as did I. I set my phone down and supported myself against a counter, staring at Trevor Gallagher's dismembered body. All for nothing. I didn't have to rip him up like this just to find out that the problem rested all in his nervous system. It was twisted Mycroft would have me do this. Having a real life implementation on my deceased best friend. But honestly...I had fun. This time crunching challenge was fun.  
I was in the right field of work.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Aw. I'm sorry Trevor didn't last too long. But I hope you liked it! Favorite, follow, review ...please? ^^ Love you. This chapter was deep. The little moment with Roman and Mycroft awww. Cute. BUT next week or Thursday...I DON'T KNOW look out for the actual start of my favorite character besides Roman. And I can promise you that he’ll be around for awhile. Maybe~ You'll just have to read and find out. Chapter 14: The Project and The Watson. Excited? I know I am! :D Haha Roman is slowly getting over Trevor's death as he enters his FINAL year! Teaming up with someone for a semester project that'll change his life. OH MY OH MY OH MYYYYY!


	14. The Project and The Watson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman lost his only friend now what should he to do? Carry on I guess. He starts his last year retaking a Human Anatomy class where there he is forced to a semester project with an unlikely person. Who is it? Read and find out. I wanted to post this a day early cause I can. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 14: The Project and The Watson.  
Trevor's funeral was two days later. I didn't go. I sent my condolences and said my goodbyes as I cut him up. It wasn't the ideal goodbye, but when have I ever had the chance to give someone a proper goodbye? Never, that's when. Instead, I stayed home, returning back to my life before Trevor. Working, studying, writing, reading whatever I got my hands on. I quickly got bored. I had no motivation to do anything. No drinking, that was depressing. No drugs, it was only fun when Trevor was around. My recreational activities weren’t even fun anymore. I just couldn't. After Ms. Lang, that addiction faded along with the feeling. Damn. All I thought about was my mother, curse that woman. Ms. Lang, I missed her touch. And Trevor, that dumbass didn't have to die if he wasn't so stuck on himself and influenced by the people around him. Damn you Trevor, you selfish dick! ...On the other hand, Trevor's death taught me a valuable lesson: Don't befriend/get close to anyone, they will just leave. If not by nature's will, then by the hands of the maniacal Mycroft.  
With the weather came the seasons. Halloween, children dressed in cheesy costumes and filled their systems with candy. A group of kids in the middle of the night came strolling by the house to play some kind of game of who could get the closest to my house without getting scared. One kid, surprisingly enough, made it to my front door. When he knocked, Butler Taylor opened the door and man, I had never seen a child run so fast. I felt a like a creepy old man wanting to scream at kids to get off my lawn.  
Thanksgiving. Did England even celebrate Thanksgiving? It didn't matter anyway because I didn't. Making ridiculous amounts of food and having no one to eat it? Waste of time and money.  
Christmas. Ugh, I hated that holiday more than the rest. It was the season of being with friends and family. Not me. I haven't had a Christmas tree since the last one I spent with my mother. I vowed to never have another again. What was the point? I gave a gift to everyone every day: a paycheck and my glance at my distasteful face. Bah-humbug.  
…  
Winter break was finally over. I was only a semester away from getting that diploma and finally becoming a licensed mortician. Couldn't wait. This semester, I only had to take three classes: Funeral and Human Services, Grief Counseling, and Funeral Cultural Costumes. For fun, I took Human Anatomy again, one the plus sides was that the professor was elderly so out of the nonexistence kindness of my heart, I decided to help her out. Sorta like job shadowing. Ms. Ryelle was sweet and an easy target for someone to harass her to get a passing grade for the year. With me around, I was sure it would a smooth year.  
It was the first day back to school from break. A new set of students were excited to take an anatomy class. I was standing at the chalkboard, drawing a diagram of the liver Ms. Ryelle told me to draw. I could hear the quiet chatter of girls staring at me, making comments about me.   
"He's cute."   
"Is he the teacher? Looks a little young."  
"Look at his butt."   
Okay. Enough, I was getting uncomfortable.  
"Um ...professor? Where do I lay my class entry paper?" A female voice spoke.  
Shit. They really did think I was the professor. But then again, it wasn't like I looked like a regular student either. I was wearing slacks, a button-up, and an expensive jacket to match. Well, this might be fun.   
"On the desk," I commanded, still drawing.  
Everything calmed down and they awaited for my welcome. I knew I was going to drag this out for as long as I could. Why not have fun? It was my fourth year, so after this I was going to be spending my life inside my basement, surrounded by corpses and silver metal.  
"Morning class," I began. "I'm Mr. Adler. Or just Adler, whichever you prefer."  
I gazed out to the many unique faces and expressions. There were all different kinds of ethnicities, genders, races, and aura colors. Damn. It was like looking out to a Skittled nightmare. My eyes were squinting.  
"Welcome to Human Anatomy."  
I began to do the class run down Ms. Ryelle gave when I was first taking the class. The grading scale, attendance, projects, safety, dissections, and expectations for the class. I was doing pretty good. Maybe I could be a professor in my free time….Nah, I hated college kids and nevertheless, within my first few years of teaching, I would probably be sexually assaulted by hormonal girls with daddy issues.  
"Any questions?" I asked when I finished.  
"Yeah I got one. Since when did you teach my class, Mr. Adler?"  
It was Ms. Ryelle.  
She was soft, wrinkled, and white-skinned with dyed brown hair and dressy clothes. And a bronze aura to match. She was small and brittle, hobbling over to me with her cane and a rather large bag in her hands. She had a meek smile on her face.  
"Ahh! Ms. Ryelle, there you are." I held my hand out for her to step up on the podium.  
"Are you playing teacher again?" she asked playfully.  
"Just keeping order and stability."  
She was a sweet old lady. Like a grandmother to me. I never had one of those. My mother said her parents gave her up when she was little. Could that have been a lie too?  
"Everyone, I'm your professor, Ms. Ryelle." She patted my back laughing. "Since I'm getting old, Mr. Adler is here to help me out. He's quite a card."  
She began to repeat my lecture about the class.  
"I already went over everything," I said going back to my drawing.  
"Oh really? Thank you! I've been saying the same thing for over thirty years now. It's nice to know someone is still paying attention. But thankfully this year is my last year teaching, I'm retiring. Maybe Mr. Adler could take over since he seems to have everything under control." She laughed to herself. "But since this is only a semester long class, I thought I could assign the biggest project my students normally do. It's my personal favorite and I think it helps with your social skills and inner reflection. This entire semester project will over be human discovery and dissection!"  
Okay, maybe I lied. I didn't retake this class for fun. I failed it because of this very project. It wasn't a hard project to do, but the fact that I had to have a partner was stressful and something I wasn't willing to do so I took a zero and failed the semester. She wouldn't allow me to work alone. Luckily, my partner dropped the class that week. Then she tried to put me in a group of three and I said “fuck that” so I was partnerless and failing. Looked like I was going to be failing again. Fuck.  
"You will be assigned a partner for the semester. You two will have to work together properly in order to get a passing grade."  
She continued to go over the project while I mentally prepared myself to fail once again. I wasn't going to do this. Ms. Ryelle was going to kill me. Out of boredom, I began to draw the skeletal system of a cat. Simple.  
"Christopher, you will be working with hmm…uh, Mr. Adler!"  
I quickly turned to her. "I'm not doing the project."  
"Mr. Adler, you can't afford to fail my class again or you won't graduate this spring. Christopher looks like a hard worker."  
"I'm not doing the project."  
"Yes you are. You need to class to graduate so suck it up."  
Fuck!  
She was right. I did need this class to graduate. But the stress inducing idiots here were going to be the death of me. Damn.  
I sighed and accepted defeat.  
This Christopher better not be an idiot or so help me God.  
Once she finished assigning partners to everyone, she directed us the lab to get started on the project. While everybody pushed themselves in to get started, I dragged my feet in mild anger.  
"You and your partner will today be retrieving the kidneys, liver, heart and gall bladder out of these replicated bodies," Ms. Ryelle spoke.  
I took a place beside the representational body, staring down at it. I put on a pair of gloves, like I really was going to need them. The model body was rubber, plastic, and had water based red jello as blood. How dull. I liked the real stuff. Blood, guts, and the almighty glory!  
"I'm Christopher." A hand was in my face.  
I leaned back, looking at the hand. It was rather small. I followed the hand up to an arm, then to the body attached to it. God damn he was short. Maybe only reaching up to my neck. He was very tiny, short, and skinny with a average build, weighing nothing more than a stick. His hair was sandy brown, with a hint of blonde? He used very little product in his hair to create a mild wave. Pale skinned, smooth shaved features, breathtaking blueish gray eyes. He tried to match me in height by standing up army straight, but it wasn't working even with me slouching over this plastic body. He looked so familiar. Could I have had a class with him before? He wore a rather tight button down shirt with a weird blue, red, and gray pattern on it. His sleeves were rolled up. He seemed so damn nervous.  
"Mr. Adler, or Adler, whichever you prefer." I ignored his hand shake, returning my attention back to the task before us.  
"Right," he said, moving about nervously.  
"I'll get the gallbladder, liver, and kidneys. You just get the heart." By the time I finished, I was already pulling out the kidneys. "Your turn."  
I watched him swallow hard and put on the gloves shakily. His compacted size made his tension overshadow everything else about him. He was starting to sweat as his small-scaled arms reached up to the body.  
"It's just practice," I assured him.  
"I know.” He placed in his hand down into the rubber and liquid jello. His face twisted into nausea. "I can't do this."  
"Why?"  
"I can't."  
"Yes you can."  
He shook his head, panicked.  
I grabbed his hand before it was fully out of the jello and shoved it back down. He made a gagging grunt. Was he going to throw up?  
"Just grab the heart." I held his hand in as he tried to pull it out. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack.  
My patience with this squeamish idiot was running thin. This was not hard and not at all gross in any way. How was he going practice on real bodies if he couldn't handle the fake ones? This was a needed skill in almost all medical fields. My god!  
After a minute, he finally got the needed object. Once he pulled it out to look, it was all over. His white face went ghostly, eyes glassy, pupils as big as Big Ben and his breathing accelerated. His legs locked up and his body collapsed to the floor. He passed out. Everyone began to gather around him while I leaned over the table to look at his unconscious body.  
"Pussy," I said with an aggravating sigh.  
…  
"I'm sorry. I'm not good with blood," Christopher said as I handed him an ice pack.  
"It wasn't even blood. It's water based jello." I pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.  
He looked like he was getting nervous again, more embarrassed than anything. He gave a blushy smiled and cheesy laugh.  
I examined him.  
At least 18 years old, second year of school. Coming from an upper middle class family, classic brand clothing. Anxiety problems because of body shifting, fingers twitching, compulsive lip licking. He's averagely educated, works in a cafe, the smell of coffee is present, and so is cheap cologne. Didn't shower this morning, grease in hair. Insomniac, tired eyes, low posture, aging skin already. Hemophiliac - Fear of blood. Passing out during practice. A career choice in nursing? No, he wouldn't have made it this far. No. No. No. ...Forensics! The classic clothing, formal greeting, military stance with no background. He might be in the wrong field.  
"Forensics?"  
"Pardon?"  
"You are studying forensics." I looked at him distantly.  
"Uh.. yeah. How'd you know?"  
"I think you might be in the wrong field if you can't stand the sight of blood."  
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  
"I want to be a detective. I'll get use to it," he said, unsure of himself.  
"Mhm. Why a detective?"  
"My dad is kinda one...sorta. Originally he was a doctor," he stated in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.  
"How about you? Doctor? You look like a doctor, or a professor-in-training."  
"Mortician." My reply was quick.  
"Oh?" He moved the ice pack on his head, cringing in pain.  
The silence came and sat with us. Christopher looked around at the roaming people in the cafeteria. I was sure he was getting uncomfortable with me staring at him so intently. I was just lost in his size and rare tone British voice amazed me for some reason.  
"What are you staring at?" He sat up straight.  
"You."  
"Well please don't. You are making me uncomfortable."  
"Why?"  
He rolled his eyes. "I don't know. I just don't like it. Stop."  
Temperamental. Cute.  
I blinked, confused at my thoughts.  
What? Stop Roman.  
After I noticed his breathing elevating and unintentional neck twitching, I decided to look away from him, letting him calm down.  
"You aren't English? American?" he inquired.  
This conversation was going in all kinds of directions. Interesting.  
"Yes."  
"How long have you been here?"  
I stuttered, " A...about five years."  
I didn't want to talk about me. There was nothing to talk about. My life was meaningless, a constant bore. My past was irrelevant because in this present moment I was placed with this immature, stubborn thing to work on a project with for a whole semester. I might as well not do it at all, with or without him, I was going to fail.  
He looked down. "Again, I'm sorry about earlier. You might want to find a new partner. I'll just fail us both. I heard Ms. Ryelle say you needed this class to graduate. I don't want to stop you from that."  
His pathetic, muted, sad face and low, raspy voice was getting to me. Was I feeling sorry for him? Pissed off, maybe. His inability to do that simple task was affecting us both. I knew I couldn't change partners, so I was stuck with him whether I liked it or not. Well, fuck.  
"You are going to pass."  
"I can't..."  
I pounded my fist on the table and spoke deeply so that only he could hear. "If you say you can't one more time I'm going to cut your tongue out with a spoon."  
His eyes had fear in them, holding his tongue back in his mouth. Was it possible I could scare him into completing the project?  
"I'll help you pass the damn class. It's too kind of me I know." I flattered myself.  
His face looked helpless and angered at the same time. Dumbfounded.  
"How?"  
"Give me your phone."  
"Why?"  
I sighed and rolled my eyes with great aggravation. "By God! Shut up and do what I say."  
This guy was bringing a dangerous side out of me ever since I met him. I wanted to boss him around. Take control of him. Get in his face. He made my blood pump faster and my temperature fluctuate. My hormones were spiraling in countless directions. The smell in the air changed. I haven't felt like this since…nevermind. He was getting on my nerves.  
He hesitantly handed me his phone from his pocket. I put my number in it.  
"I'll text you my address later tonight. Be there around ten. Don't be late." I gave back his phone.  
"Why?"  
"We are going to practice."  
"Wha..."  
I cut him off. "No more questions. If I hear another question I'm going to make you eat the table. Just be there."  
His mouth was left open, unsure what to say or think next. Maybe I was speaking too fast for him to understand what I was saying. Or he was observing me.  
"Alright." He nodded.  
I stood up, putting on my coat. "I have to go to work. When you go home, lie down and rest. You could go into a seizure if you're not careful. Text you later, don't be late." I turned away. "Oh! What was your name again?" I asked.  
He turned around to me holding the ice pack to his head with a innocent, teasingly happy look. "Christopher. Christopher Watson." He smiled.  
Glaring at him, I replayed his words over in my head a couple times. Christopher. Christopher Watson. Christopher Watson. Watson. Did I hear what I thought I just heard?  
Once I remembered how I knew the name, it finally hit me. Watson.  
"Shit," I said quietly to myself.  
-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D . . . Well? What do you think of Christopher? He's so cute. Ironic that they are working together? Hmm! REVIEW, follow, favorite. I love feedback bros. Chapter 15: The Irony and The Practice. Classic title huh? Roman just freaking a bit over who Christopher is and knowing he HAS to work with him is a little nerve wrecking. Can Roman do it? And of course, some more of Christopher and his weak ass self. xD At least each character gets to know each other a little better. Being expecting Chapter 15 Thursday or Monday! Love you guys...


	15. The Irony and The Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Okay Roman is freaking out about Christopher Watson. Watson, Watson, WATSON. Can he do this project? He doesn't have much of a choice, can they even get along? Roman's patience is lower than hell with Christopher. More Watson inquisitions. And inappropriate humor. (sorry)

Chapter 15: The Irony and The Practice.  
Okay, maybe it was just pure coincidence, chance, and utter irony that I was stuck with John Watson's son for a project. It had to be his son! They looked exactly alike. The eyes: faded blue, the height: oddly short. Facial structure and that drooling smile, perfectly straight teeth...God. I was stuck with this guy for a whole semester. There was no way out of it. Mycroft was going to kill me. It was not like I picked him for a partner (I wouldn't have picked him in the first place, he doesn't meet the partner standard for me), Ms. Ryelle did! He was going to kill her. Shit, that was not good either. She was a nice lady.  
Was it right to be freaking out over this? Yes! I'm working with Christopher Fucking Watson! It was fucking Sherlock and John part two in the making! Meeting on uncomfortable terms and the exerting force that drags you in, you’re stuck. Building a relationship just so you won't go crazy. I was nothing like my father though, not even close. Even when I tried. Oh God. This isn't good. Mycroft forewarned me that if I went anywhere near Sherlock, he would murder me. What about John's son? What punishment would I serve then? This wasn't my fault.  
It was only for a semester, after that I would graduate and move on with my life. Christopher and I probably wouldn't talk again after this. It was for the best. Damnit Roman! What are you getting yourself into? Life was starting to go back to normal and this fuck was trying to mess it up. Jesus, I just wanna live in my basement and play Clue.  
This wasn't ironic at all. This was mother nature trying to create a second generation. Fuck. That.  
I paced in my living room, wondering if having Christopher here was a good idea. If Butler Taylor saw it, he would report it to Mycroft and a whole world of trouble would be created in one day. I had never been this on edge. All of this was beyond the stress I expected going into this project.  
That was it. I was just going to cancel. I couldn’t do this, my nerves were beyond shot. This was a bad idea. I began to text my message to Christopher about the cancellation but was interrupted by the doorbell. I jumped, nearly dropping my phone. God damn this guy. 10:01 he was a minute late and so was I. I'll just tell him to leave before someone sees.  
I basically ran over to the door, ripping it open.  
"Hey! Sorry I'm late. Damn, this is your house?" Christopher asked.  
"Uhh. Chris...i...it's best..."  
I couldn't form proper words.  
Christopher was just eyeing me. Looking up at me from his small size. A half smile was on his face.  
I grabbed his black layered coat and pulled him inside quickly since I couldn't tell him to just leave.  
"Whoa!" He yelped as I closed the door behind him. "Grabby aren't we?" He laughed.  
My smile was more than faked as I looked around frantically for Butler Taylor.  
"Give me your coat." I held my hand out, not paying attention to him.  
I felt the rugged material from his coat being placed in my shaking hand. I threw it up onto the rack, on top of mine and grabbed his arm pulling him towards the basement.  
"Where are we going?" he asked.  
"Shh!"  
I opened the basement door and pushed Christopher inside it. I think mission complete. Butler Taylor, or anyone for that fact, knew better than to come into the basement when I was working. It was for their own safety and whatever they ate because sometimes there would be a lot of blood or body parts laying about, brains on the floor. It was all part of the thought process, so it had to be done. Plus, the amount of chemicals that were put into the air could kill a horse.  
It was my happy place.  
"Why are you acting so nervous?"  
"I'm not." I put on my black lab coat.  
After walking over to the examining table where a white sheet covered our practice, I pulled the sheet down exposing a real human body (Molly let me take it so I could test out my crematory). I watched Christopher's reaction. He jumped out of his skin.  
"HOLY FUCK! That's a real dead body!" Looking mortified, he stepped back against the wall.  
"This is our practice dummy."  
"What?! We.. can't do th-that!"  
"Why not?"  
"That…that's disrespecting the...DEAD!"  
He was panting to catch his breath. I had never seen someone react so dramaticly to a body before. I stayed calm. Christopher's expressions were amusing.  
"It's going to be cremated in a couple hours. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity?"  
"Uhhh no! I'm not...it's a real body! No!" He backed away towards the door.  
I was right. It was going to be burned to ashes in a while, why waste a good chance to get some real hands-on action? I could get rid of that hemophilia problem of his with this.  
I marched over to the door, slamming it shut, getting in Christopher's face. I narrowed my eyes on his. He looked like he was going to puke. For the sake of that beautiful face of his, he better not.  
"I said I was going to help you and I am. You will NOT fuck my chances of graduating up. We are stuck together. Get over it!"  
I could feel my blood thicken and boil under my skin, I was getting pissed at his cowardice. I didn't have the patience to put up with this.  
"There is no way I'm cutting open a dead body."  
"I will. Your job is to retrieve all the organs I tell you to."  
Christopher looked at he was going to say something else, but I pulled him by his arm and dragged him back over to the table.  
God there was something about him made me act like a beast. My pulse was going crazy. Almost enough to have a heart attack. I couldn't think straight, but at the same time everything came so simply and clearly to me. I knew all the right words and movements to make him uneasy. I felt aggressive. My patience with him was oddly below average. He made every nerve in my body twist and every hormone double in dose. I had so much adrenaline.  
I made the normal Y incision and peeled the skin back while Christopher ran over the sink and threw up. I sighed, waiting for him to get himself together and return. How tedious.  
"Really, I...I..can't do this..." he said, putting his hand over his mouth in an attempt to hold back more vomit.  
I rammed the scalpel carelessly in the shoulder of the body. With that action, Christopher's whole body shivered.  
"Then how the hell are you ever going to become a detective?! News flash Mr. Watson! You are going to deal with shit like this on a daily basis, only worse. Severed heads, torn off appendages, stabbings, gun shots, rape, murder and that's only the half of it!"  
"I know! I don't know!" he yelled back at me. "I don't know! But I have to do this."  
"Why?"  
"Because, I told my dad I wasn't going to medical school. This was next best option that he approved of."  
"It doesn't matter what he approves of, you’re old enough to make your own choices. You clearly can't do this."  
"Yes I can!"  
Reverse psychology was actually coming in handy. A technique involving the advocacy of a belief or behavior that is opposite to the one desired, with the expectation that this approach will encourage the subject of the persuasion to do what actually is desired: the opposite of what is suggested.  
"Then get over here and do it..."  
He dragged his feet, making disappointing moans to himself.  
"You're insane," he said.  
You have no idea.  
I handed him a clean scalpel and we began.  
Before we did any cutting, I ran over some simple basics of how hard to press on the blade, how deep and what to expect if something were to go wrong. I explained the process in which we would do the embalming. Elementary.  
"Now be careful where you cut or blood will spray everywhere. I don't want my walls painted blood red."  
"Oh my god. Are you serious?"  
"No."  
His short shoulder bumped into my arm as he held back a nervous laugh.  
"We'll start off easy. Retrieve the heart."  
He swallowed and popped his neck multiple times, adjusting his standing position. He was a nervous wreck. My God.  
I pointed to it. "...it's right there."  
"I know!"  
I sternly watched him nearly sweat himself to death, bringing the knife up to the body. He kept hesitating, and his breathing was loud enough I could hear his lungs’ fluctuation. If he kept that up, he was going to pass out. Again.  
"If you pass out, you'll more than likely bust your head open on the cement. I won't clean up the blood. I'll just leave you there."  
"Jeez..." He sighed, overwhelmed.  
He slowly cut all four valves to the heart. His face was white again, he looked disgusted. It was very amusing to watch him squirm. His small body involuntary coilied into a ball of weakness.  
I placed the heart in a bucket. Weight: 12 ounces. Maybe the guy died from an enlarged heart. It was possible.  
"Okay, now the pancreas," I instructed.  
"Ugh…I can't." He buried his head in his sleeve.  
"I swear if you say you can't one more time..."  
"I know, you’ll cut my tongue out with a spoon. I know." He cut me off with sarcasm.  
"No, I don't have a spoon present. So I'll just have to settle for putting one of my embalming tubes down your throat and suck all the can't out of you." I smiled at him.  
He looked around for the tools I threatened him with, a gross look on his face. When he found them in the corner (I haven't yet cleaned them today), his whole body shook. After almost five minutes of contemplation he moved his scalpel down to the pancreas. Shakingly, he cut it out and I removed it from the body.  
"Now the stomach. You have to seriously be careful where you cut or stomach acid will pour out and burn the intestines."  
Christopher thought I was joking but I wasn't. It was called stomach acid for a reason.  
"Uhh. I don't know where to cut." He was lost.  
I came up behind him and placed my hands near his elbows, easily looking over his shoulder down to the examination. Damn, he was short. Really, it had been a while since I was this close to someone. I felt more...human. Somehow helping Christopher, I placed myself down his level. It made my mouth go dry and I fumbled for my thoughts.  
"Just...uh. Cut here." I glided his hand up to the position. "Be genital."  
I was intently breathing down his neck, trying to be careful myself. If I ruined this body, our application would go to waste. He stiffened his shoulders and cocked his head. My concentration was getting to him.  
Suddenly my basement door opened. Christopher and I awaited, frozen in position for the disturbance to show itself. My heart was pounding in my chest. If it was Butler Taylor…or Mycroft. Oh no. Fuck, fuck, fuck!  
"Mr. Adler I'm sorry to..."  
It was the Maid Kate. When she noticed Christopher and I, she nearly fell over. I'm sure she got the wrong impression at first. Who wouldn't? Christopher hovering over a mutilated dead body and me behind him, my body pressed into his. Okay, what wrong impression could she get?  
"OH! I'm sorry Mr. Adler! I did not mean to intrude." She went to turn away.  
I did not move. "What do you need?" The tone of my voice was obviously annoyed.  
"Uhh…it can wait. I'm sorry sir."  
"You are already down here, what?"  
"Your coat sir. I can't seem to get the blood out. What shall I do?"  
I rolled my eyes and sighed at her words. "Just throw it out. I'll buy a new one. Carry on."  
Kate disappeared in the blink of an eye. I had never seen her move so fast.  
"That was awkward." Christopher nervously laughed.  
"Back to it." I pushed his hands back into the corpse.  
…  
~~~I'm sorry for my graphic inappropriate humor.~~~  
We continued our exercise for another hour or so before every organ was cut out. For the fun of it, I made Christopher perform a testicular exam. There was honestly nothing to find, but it humored me, especially since Rigor Mortis had kicked in the night before and the penis and testicles were unnaturally hard. His face of helplessness and concentration were enough to make me nearly choke on the Chinese food I was eating while watching.  
"I think he likes you Christopher." I laughed and swallowed my food.  
"How the hell can you eat?"  
"I'm used to it." I popped some sushi in my mouth.  
"I could puke right now."  
I steadily watched Christopher fiddle around. He looked so serious, clueing around for nothing. When was he going to catch on? Probably never. He was so gullible, cute. I might as well spear him about every man’s reaction when you touch his penis for too long. Yes, even when you're dead it's possible to ejaculate involuntarily. It's called, in the simplest terms, coma boner. I stood up, finishing my food. I had to break the news to Christopher, this was too amusing.  
It would be a shame for him to get jizz all over his ungloved hands. A shame, yes, but more than interesting to watch.  
I stopped walking as the thought came into my head.  
What the actual fuck Roman? Stop.  
"Okay that's enough. Cremation time." I pushed Christopher out of the way.  
I wheeled the table over to the the cremator and proceeded to do the traditional procedures necessary for burning. Cremating at the optimum temperature (1400-1800 degrees), the average weighted remains takes 2 to 2 1/2 hours. Several more hours may be required before the cremated remains are available to the family. After I was done, I returned back to Christopher, who was sitting on the counter, drying off his hands.  
"Are you legally allowed to burn bodies yet?" he asked.  
"No. Not allowed to perform autopsies either. Looks like you've just broken two laws Mr. Watson."  
"What? Me?" He looked panicked. "You made me! I told you it was disrespect. This your house anyways!"  
I cracked a half smile at him. "It's fine. I got permission. I just have to it in ashes by four."  
I sat down in my swivel chair and relaxed my back. I looked up at Christopher, who was looking around lost. His eyes were glowing blue in contrast to all the gray and white in the room. His small size made his feet dangle from the floor, lightly swaying. He really looked like his father, even in his youth.  
I wondered in comparison how much I looked like Sherlock. Ew, I didn't want to know.  
"I don't know how you'd want a job like this for the rest of your life." He shook his head.  
"What?"  
"Ripping people open, being so isolated from the world, only interacting with the dead. It's quite creepy if you ask me." He looked at me. "What made you want to become a mortician? Family tradition?"  
I shrugged. "People that breathe annoy me. And I find it relaxing and fun."  
I could tell Christopher didn't like my answer, but it was the truth. The ignorance of other people was intolerable. How selfish they were, living like zombies, slaves to the government and technology. Breathing but not really living. And once they really stopped breathing, my job was figure out how and why, then remove their human remains and continue to the burial of choice. It was enjoyable for me.  
"Well what do your parents do for a living?"  
I really didn’t know why he asked so many questions or what was so interesting about me. And the questions he asked were so spot on that dodging them was hard. I hated talking about me. Could we just stop?  
"I live alone."  
His eyes widened. "This is your house? ...like you own it? How?"  
"Inheritance."  
"You have a maid, a cook, and what, a butler? Inheritance from who?   
“What do your parents do for a living?" I avoided his question by asking another question.  
He shifted around and folded his arms, actually putting thought into the question like he honestly had forgotten about his.  
"Uhh, well like I said my dad is a doctor. My mum owns a coffee shop. But my dad is a detective on the side. Kinda like a hobby. You probably have heard of him... Sher-"  
"Yes, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. I know, I've heard."  
He smiled at me and nodded. I mocked a smile back. Ugh.  
"Why did you nervously rush me down here this morning? Were you trying to hide me from something...or someone?"  
"I didn't want to wake my dog. He's not good with new people."  
He tilted his head, not believing me. "Ehh... no. You don't have a dog."  
"How do you know?"  
"You don't look like an animal person. Your house smells of cleaning supplies and Italian food. Probably because you had some last night. Your floors are polished spotless. You have a distant personality. To have a animal, you would uncomfortably and unwillingly be forced to give affection to it. Plus, almost all dogs shed, it's winter time, and you'd be covered in hair. And lastly, simple, no dog accessories: toys, a bed, leash etcetera."  
I found myself really, seriously smiling at him. Damn, his deduction was fantastic. Spot on, either John learned a few things over the years from Sherlock, or maybe Sherlock himself taught Christopher a thing or two.  
"Good deduction."  
"Thanks. So why did you try and hide me?"  
However, his persistence was getting old.  
"Do you have any siblings Mr. Watson?"  
Confused, he studied me for a minute. He knew my game now. Too bad I knew how to win every time. Everyone loves to talk about themselves. Not me, of course.  
"No. I had a older sister, Anna. But she died before I could remember her. Drowned, I think. How about you?"  
"No."  
He bobbled his head and put his hands between his legs. Even with the cremator on it was still only about 55 degrees. Chilly.  
"I bet your parents make a lot of money to afford a life like this just for you."  
"I told you, it was inheritance."  
"What do they do?"  
"I don't know." I stood up, pacing slowly around the room. His constant questioning was making sitting hard. I felt antsy. "My mother is dead. This is what she left me."  
The awkward silence hit like a bomb. No one said anything. The tension was thick enough to cut through it with a knife. At least it got him to shut up, I didn't care how it made him feel. I couldn't feel any emotions from it anymore. She was dead, the end.  
"...I'm sorry. I...shouldn't have asked."  
"But you did. It's fine. Any more questions you would like to pressure me to answer?"  
He wanted to ask why I tried to hide him again, but I gave him a look like: "stop questioning before I put a foreign object in your mouth." So he backed off, looking at his watch. I just kept staring at him.  
"Well it's almost two, gotta go get lunch for the girlfriend."  
Girlfriend - a regular female companion with whom a person has a romantic or sexual relationship.  
"Girlfriend?" My voice nearly broke.  
"Yeah." He grinned. "Been together for almost a year. She's great."  
For some reason I didn't like the information of Christopher having a significant other. Somewhere deep inside me felt hot and my fingers twitched. Even after the words left his mouth, leaving to the silence, I could still hear them. I could almost taste them. Bitter.  
He hopped off the table onto his small feet.  
"Well thanks for the...uhh whatever you wanna call what we did. We'll have to do it again. I need all the practice I can get for the final."  
"You did fine. You don't need practice."  
"Yes I do. I only did it cause you were barking at me too." He glanced over to me. "On my own? No way. I need to be able to do it on my own without you threatening me."  
Enough talking. Just leave.  
"Okay. Just leave the way you came." I shooed him to the door.  
Once he left I turned to the counter where he sat, it was still warm. I sighed. Why was I getting upset over the fact he had a girlfriend? It wasn’t my problem, why should I have cared? He was just my partner for some stupid semester project. That was it. Sure, it was ironic he was my father's best friend’s son and I was my father's child. Now we were partners for an assignment. It would be nothing more once we finished. He was temporary. All of this was temporary. It wouldn't last, and the last thing I needed to get attached. I knew better than that. Bad things always happened when I did. Mother, Ms. Lang,Trevor. Damn, if something happened to Christopher, his separation from me would be the least of my problems. I had only known him for two days now and I was already predicting his demise. I was letting my mind get too out of hand, overreacting.  
Still, I was starting to already see why Sherlock kept someone like John around. He gave you an inexpiable rush of hormones and endorphins. He made you think clearer and react faster than normal. Everything made sense. He made you want to take control of your surroundings, cause if not, it would all go to shit. He was the storm you were trying to calm. Damn, I was loving it. A rush ten times better than a hit of cocaine. On the humorous side, he was gullible, easy-going, so naive. Christopher didn't do much but I found myself watching him so intently today. There was so much to study. Just like his father, he was blessed with good looks. Not so much for height, but with his captivating eyes, mind blowing smile. Fuck. He seemed so carefully created. And I was stuck with this masterpiece for an entire semester? Just fuck.  
I was really starting to see what Sherlock saw.  
-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Roman, you fucked up little thing. Well, what'd you think? Reviews...I like those. They made me happy ^^Favorite, follow! You know you wanna!? What is to come of Christopher's and Roman's partnership? Well things get pretty crazy in Chapter 16: The Whore and The Drunk A LOT of shit goes down, not necessary bad either. We meet Christopher's girlfriend. Who could she be? And we get to see drunk Christopher. A lot of humor and emotional overloads to come. I hope you like it! 
> 
> About the story, this a new note. I personally think it's starting to get good. YES Roman will be meeting his father soon, i promise. Be strong my loves. I think you'd like the up coming chapters ^.^ xoxoxo


	16. The Drunk and The Whore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman really hates the idea of Christopher having a girlfriend. It's interfering with their project. !A familiar scene from the Original Sherlock! Can you point it out? Hope so! ^.^ Anyway, Roman meets Christopher's girlfriend for the first time! Oh man. Well, lets just say things go south. Violence, drunk Christoper and the feels man, the feels. Some fluff. Not really. Enjoy!

Chapter 16: The Whore and The Drunk

The idea of Christopher having a girlfriend was really starting to piss me off. Not for the fact she existed, for the fact he barely come to fucking class. When Valentines day came around, so help me God, Christopher didn't show up for a week. No wonder he sucked at school, with low grades, poor attendance and an academic performance as big as my pinky. What else was he to expect? He was always putting things off 'till the last minute, goofy off and being pretty much having an extreme case of ADD. This was the stupid shit i was talking about with the stress of working with a partner. I was carrying both our weight, doing labs, writing papers, making presentations. I knew he was only in his second year but damn, take some responsibility for yourself. I really don't have time to deal with crap like this.

This is why i didn't date. It would just get in the way of my goals.

Where the fuck are you? -RA

I decided to text him because today we have routine group labing and he had to be here or we'd fail for the week. I couldn't afford that our grades already above what i wanted.

On my way. -CW

He may have had a quick response but his inability to actual be fast lagged.

I began to text a message of insult back. Something about his speed and time but he was bursting through the lab room doors.

He moved rather prominently so i was only able to caught a scant glance. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes looked a little puffy. Either Christopher did a line of coke before coming here or he'd been crying.

...Christopher do drugs? No, i'll stick with my second and more realistic observation, he'd been crying.

"Took you long enough." I sat at a table in the center of the room studying a blood sample.

"I know, i know." He put himself in a chair across from me, avoiding eye contact while touching everything. Not knowing why or what was he actually doing.

"Sorry, but what are we doing again?"

"Maybe if you showed up to school once in a while you'd know." I said being bashful.

"Get off my back."

Stunned at his boastful response i decided to cock some words back at him, "No. You've been out for over a week, i've pulled enough of your damn weight. If you wanted to fail alright, but i'll make your life a living hell in the mean time."

He slowly glared up at me from his eye brows, "I get it. Won't happen again."

"Better not."

I could tell something was very off with Christopher. He wasn't his chipper self, or being a total ditsy moron. He was serious. Emotionally a ticking time bomb. He barely moved where he sat. Hardly any energy, across from me i could tell his pulse was lower than normal. Something happen to upset him. Of course it wasn't my problem. I'm not a damn therapist, just a semester partner. I've always lived by the motto; never take your problems to work.

Do not get involved.

After several minutes of silence and the endless observations i did on Christopher i decided to get his mind off of whatever was troubling him. It was the least i could do.

"How was your Valentines Day? You didn't come to school so i assume it went well."

"Yeah."

That was it? Just yeah? I kept looking at him with a puzzled look on my face i'm sure.

"How was yours?" He asked.

"I worked."

Truthfully, i hadn't even noticed it was Valentines Day until the day after. I stayed in my basement, examining bodies and cleaning equipment. Normally on Valentine's day i went out and treated myself to a release. Not this year, i had zero motivation. What was the point? I had better things to do. Plenty of school work to keep me busy. Love was for the birds.

"You don't have a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." I told him.

"Alright."

I could feel him staring at me.

"...Do you have a boyfriend?" He held back. I looked up to him, "...which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine." I swiftly shot back.

His smile was fake, "so you've got a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Okay...fine. That's fine."

He continued his now nervous smile until i looked away.

…

It was getting late into the evening and we were still working on labs. We could have finished two hours ago if Christopher hadn't got me distracted with his ADD concentration level. I know he was only trying to put himself in a better mood but there was work to be done. He danced around with a skeletal body in the corner of the room, drew pictures on the marker board that i had to some how decipher, (he was a terrible artist) he went down the vending machine and spend more than enough money on junk food, which he put down within ten minutes.

When i tried to get back to work he pulled my swivel chair away from its place and pushed me around the room. Damn, someone was going to get hurt. But, surprisingly i was having fun. The dangerous sharp tools, the chemicals and corners around the room just waiting to be touched, i was right in the line of fire and just simply because we weren't supposed to be goofing off. What entertainment. It reminded me of all the times i had with Trevor.

Christopher had to be on some type of sugar high. He just kept going, and going and going. He played the inaccurate music, i think hip-hop for the style of dance he offered.

"May i have this dance, my lady?" He said bawling holding out his hand to me.

He was seconds away from busting down into fits of laughter. I didn't know whether or not to take him seriously. But since he kept his hand there i decided to go for it. He pulled me into a unapportioned embrace, putting one hand on my hip and the other holding up my hand at an low angle while i place my free arm on his shoulder. He took the lead to this too upbeat music. We moved about the room with no coordination. I was too busy watching him straining to keep into character and having a dumb smile on my face while he laughed nearly to tears. I don't remember having such a good time like this not on drugs. It felt good.

Christopher was something, i couldn't explain it. His personality was rarely amazing. A naturally fun person to be around. His looks on top of that, perfection. I don't what else he could surpass me with now. A secret love for mortuary? It'd be a done deal. This would be my new best friend until Mycroft or mother nature would take him from me. I could already tell it wouldn't end pretty. I moved that thought to back of my mind.

We continued to dance until a vaguely familiar female voice killed everything.

"Christopher? What are you doing?"

Like the presence of gravity, everything dropped.

Christopher stopped dead in his tracks, i nearly fell into him. All expression went blank and he let go of me. Standing at attention to her.

"Julia what are you doing here?" Somewhere deep inside him said. I never heard him sound so, ...manly.

I turned around to have a look at this fun crushing Julia.

Oh my fucking God.

At least 18. Smoker, discolored teeth, reeking of smoke. Cosmetologist, the often fresh cut hair, and expensive produces. Dating Christopher, clearly. Possessive, her attempt at dominance. Jealous with increased breathing, lacking patients. Color style the hair, and work formal uniform. Could i say slut? With the popping cleavage and unneeded lipstick that was put on for Christopher, it'd been there all day. I know exactly who this woman was.

The moment i saw her hair and worked it down from their knew exactly who she was. That unnatural purple dye and a dyke-style cut, her vaguely remembering lanky size. Bony, with mild skinned, and yes, she reeked of cigarettes. Her voice was generally seduction. Raspy with a hint of innocence. A sickly plum purple ore just like her hair bounced off , Julia's expression was confused and untrusting. Barely noticing me. I knew exactly who this girl was. The same girl i woke up to at the party i went to with Trevor. Holy fuck. That wasn't even a year ago. She was slut. A cheating slut.

"I brought you dinner." She held up plastic bag with Chinese symbols on it.

He took the bag from her and set it on the table, "Thanks."

"It looks like you already ate." She pointed to the trash he left on a lab table. The vending machine junk.

"Oh yeah, i didn't know you were coming."

"I tried to call. Looks like you were to busy goofing off."

"Sorry."

I wasn't apart of this conversation. Frankly, i was probably standing there for too long studying her. I know she saw me, looking straight at me when i turned around. She had to remember me. She knew who i was way. Drunk, on drugs whatever Julia knew.

Avoiding it i see.

I walked past them, going back to the lab table where all our work we were supposed to be going was at. I wasn't going to start an altercation. It maybe be something Christopher deserved to know but it would damage more than their relationship, our friendship.

"Oh Julia! This is my partner for Human Anatomy." He waved a hand to me.

"Mr. Adler or Adler, whichever you prefer," I shoved my face into a microscope.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Adler." She said.

The sound her voice saying my name was even remarkable.

Her playing dumb was growing boring with me, and she just started. I wanted her to know quite well if she'd forgotten. If they'd been together for at least 9 months is what Christopher told me so obviously she cheated.

"How long did you say you and Julia have been together?" I looked to Christopher.

"Uhh almost a year, eleven months."

"That's what i thought." I gave them both a half smile.

Slut - a woman who has many casual sexual partners.

I sighed silently.

Faintly, I listened to their conversation;

"Are you still mad at me?" Julia gave Christopher puppy dog eyes as she hung from his neck.

He looked down to her not responding.

"I said i was sorry. Chrisy babyyy." She kissed his neck.

Gross. I could deal with slaughtered limps but this fake chemistry? ...Someone get me a bucket.

"We'll talk about it later." Christopher said breaking in a unwilling moan.

"But baby..."

"Later Julia." He held back.

Then, she kissed him. She actually kissed him on the lips. Right in front of me. I think somewhere she knew i was watching. And she knew it'd bring a reaction out on me. That hot feeling inside me was resurfacing and it was fire in my throat. Anger. I couldn't stand to look at them anymore. If i continued to let myself watch this, something bad was going to happen. I'd get up and… and. Fuck. Calm down.

"Christopher we need to back to work." My voice ripped the tension right in half.

"Uh...right." He stepped back from her.

Christopher moved away from Julia entirely. She glared over at me with greed in her large black eyes. She made me sick to look at. Nothing but a tease, how could Christopher not see her manically ways? So naive.

"I'll see you tonight." She began, "Love you."

She gave Christopher another kiss only this time on the cheek.

"Goodbye Mr. Adler." He taunted at me.

Intently i watched her removed herself from my sight. Damn her.

Christopher returned back to his original seat and observed the unmarked paper in front of him. He had forgotten where he left off at. I pretended not to noticed.

"Having problems?" I asked not looking at him.

"No, i found it." He pulled out a paper and began to work on it, "so the false-positive test, what-"

"Not that." I interrupted him.

I was deep into my study of these cultural sampled to look at him. The iron levels were off. Good thing i was a multitasker even though that is actually scientifically impossible.

"Sorry?"

"You and Julia."

"Oh? No! We're fine." He nodded several times.

"She did something you're not happy about. I could tell from the moment you walked in. And when she dropped by? I'd never seen someone demeanor change so quick. What'd she do, bitch at you, disagreement over something, the attention card ...cheat?"

I made sure not make it so blatant.

"What? No? How could...no." He fumbled, "just a misunderstanding."

I wasn't interested anymore. This wasn't my problem. Whatever was wrong is his conflict to deal with, not mine.

But of course it wouldn't last because after a couple moments of silence he continued, "Alright," he set his pencil down, "i went through her phone yesterday 'cause it phone kept going off at dinner and she was texting another guy."

I looked at him.

"I confronted her about it. It went downhill from there. She said i didn't trust her."

"Do you trust her?" I only gave him a second to answer, it wasn't long enough, he didn't say a word, "She bored."

"Excuse me?"

"She's texting other guys because you're boring her."

He blinked rapidly, shifted around, licked his lips and leaned in a bit. A look of concern on his face. "How do i un-bored her?"

I wiggled my finger to motion him in close, he complied struggling over his small torso.

"Buy some Extends." I whispered.

He fell back into his seat, insulted by the suggestion.

"My size isn't the problem!" Christopher yelled, then his expression changed, "...I don't think." He was puzzled but defensive.

I couldn't help but flash a evil grin at him. He was so easy.

"She's never...but...she always says...It's about.."

"Mr. Watson, it was merely a suggestion. But your problem is clearly lacking the bedroom. Now, get back to work."

He sighed and scratched his head, "Right."

…

Christopher and I had our final examine in about two months or less. My grade depended on it more than his. It was already mid March and i wasn't exactly liking how our grade was looking. It was passing, but we could do better. A couple weeks ago i met Christopher's girlfriend Julia. The same girl i woke up to at a party i went to with my now dead best friend Trevor. I'm pretty sure her and i did things but it's too fuzzy now. The drug Trevor slipped into my drink took a major affect on my action. And ever since that day i met her officially i kept thinking about Trevor. I couldn't believe he was dead. I wanted to lock myself away at the thought of him no longer breathing. That damn bastard abandoned me, he knew how much to take. What a fuck up! But, maybe if i had gone to that party with him maybe he wouldn't be dead. Damn, i don't want to do anything now. It's my fault. However, he;s gone and have been dead for almost a year now. This was divine intervention.

I knew i couldn't bare another loss like Trevor, so forming a relationship with Christopher was hard. I fought back as much as i could, ignoring him, insulting him nearly to tears. Anything to distance myself from. But at the same time i enjoy his company. Having such an unconnected bond was sufficient. I dared not to call him friend but more a partner for the semester and after that i was no longer to have any contract with him. It was for our safety.

Oddly enough, when i thought of our departure my chest hurt. Almost like heartburn but deeper and i couldn't medicate it. I felt panicky and i was begging for things to do to get my mind off from it, couldn't handle the thought of it yet. I didn't like the idea of feeling this way when i thought about him. But i couldn't help it, Christopher made me settled. Happy? ...I don't know. He just relaxed me by his presence but when he spoke i wanted to tape it shut. I felt i need to take control of him, command him and he knew that. He let me boss around like child or a pet He loved to talk-back, give attitude just so i could give him some analogy of what i might do if he didn't stop. God he was interestingly amazing. There wasn't a dull moment when i was around him. Yet, I hated that i felt this way, fuck. I hated it. I hoped he couldn't tell how he made me feel. My body went crazy when he was around. I was a monster. I liked this monster he made out of me.

Heyr -CW

I was down in the morgue doing an autopsy.

47 year old female, past record of doubly bypass surgery. Only four years ago. Single, two older children, living alone, no signs of foul play. All organs are in order, no bruising, no head trauma. Swollen body and mild discoloration.

Wat r yu doig ?. -CW

My phone buzzed again.

"God dammit." I said to myself walking over to my cell that was laying on the counter.

What? -RA

I took a moment to wait for a reply. His poor texting skills meant he was probably drunk or took up a new texting language i was not aware of. What could he want?

Sh cheatd on me -CW

So the slut finally fucked up. And now Christopher was out at a bar (probably) traditionally drinking his pain away. It was a shame Christopher had to find out first hand, but he'll be okay.

I set my phone back down and returned back to my previous occupation.

Smoker. The lungs are black, layered with tarr. Lung cancer? The test came back negative. Her liver was healthy, not a drinker. The heart was a healthy 8 ounces.

My phone buzzed again.

I walkd in on hr fuking some guy,, -CW

My parnts wan me to gt bak wif her -CW

Fuck thm -CW

Damn he was persistent.

However, I wasn't a shoulder to cry on. I didn't want to give him that impression either so my only choice was to ignore his text.

I went once again back to my work.

She was found dead, face down in the living room. Body was over twelve hours old, found holding Rosary necklaces, Catholic. Cardiac-arrest?

I began to gently cut open the top atrium valves of her heart. I must have punctured something, blood poured out from the valve. I stuck my finger down into it, pulling out a blood clot the size of a quarter. The clot must have formed into one of the artery.

Heart-attack.

I was right.

I washed my hands and began to fill out the necessary paper work. It was such a shame, she was only forty-seven years old and she died of a boring old heart attack. But, death has no mercy. No acceptations.

My phone began to ring. When i looked at the caller ID it appeared to be Christopher. Ugh! Leave me alone.

"What do you want? Mope about your girlfriend to someone else. I'm busy." I barked.

There was no reply on the other end of the line. Just dead silence.

"Christopher?"

Silence.

My heart began to speed up intentionally. Why isn't he answering me? I know he called on accident but he should at least be able to hear me. Oh God. What if things for ugly and he was going to kill himself over Julia? OR something far worse than i could think of. Someone could easily kill him, he was small and defenseless. Plus, being the son of John Watson and looking so much like him he was the perfect target for current enemies.

"Get away from me!" I heard Christopher's voice in the distant screaming out.

Startled i kept listening for anything.

What was going on? Who was Christopher yelling at?

"Christopher. Answer me! Where are you?" I called to him through my phone helplessly.

Before i could say another word the phone line went dead. The annoying tone of a hung up phone began to play. BEEEEEEEEEEP. It echoed in my ears even after i hung up. It's all i could hear other than the sound of Christopher's voice on repeat, my bursting heart pushed me towards the door. My legs soon cooperated and i was flying out my basement doors and soon out my front door. Panicking, scared and a nervous wreck. What was going on?

I had to save Christopher.

Traffic just couldn't move any faster. I was about to jump out of the cab and take off running down the road. I couldn't stand to sit here and wonder what was happening to Christopher. By the time i got there he could be gone, ...or dead. Oh God. I wasn't prepared for that. I prayed every car on the road would disappeared, i could have been there in under three minutes. After i hung up the phone i was able to track his with a basic cell finder on the internet. He was at some bar called The Vault, it was painfully on the other side of town. I'd never heard of that bar and i'd been to one too many of them.

After a fucking almost fifteen minute ride i finally pulled up to The Vault. Ripping the door open, i almost lost my balance and nearly fell on my face, i ran inside.

I wasn't even sure where to start looking at. So many drunken ore's shaking all around. They may have been dull, dim and faded colors but they still existed. Walking was extremely hard to do, everything was shaking, my legs were wobbling. For some reason when i placed myself around drunk persons i was just as affected as they were with alcohol. I couldn't see straight and I felt i was going to pass out.

Looking through the darkness, hardly any lights were on. Just shadows of people of people passing, plastered laughs and slurred voices. I don't know how i was going to find Christopher.

"Get off me!"

I heard Christopher's voice.

My mind scanned for the direction in which his voiced shot. It sounded like it was right in front of me, or the left of me. Oh fuck i don't know.

At a instant movement of a body forced backwards and the sound of Christopher's voice rang out again, i finally found him. There i found a tall man, normal compared to me but a giant to Christopher, with a jock like built was pushing himself onto the smaller man. Abusing his size. I watched for a minute to see what this beast was up to. When he put his hands on Christopher as to hit him, i lost it.

Pupil dilating, muscles locking up, pores opening up, mind racing, body temperature rising, hear going crazy, and adrenaline injections into the bloodstream. Rage.

Like a launched mission i kept my eyes on the target. Ready to give him my full fury. I don't know why i was so mad at the sight of all this. Maybe i was acting completely irrational. But, sadly, it was too late i was already grabbing the guy, turning him around to face me. Next, cocking my fist back then, letting go drilling into his nose. Oh my god! Did it not only hurt him, the shocking joil pushing back against my force was excruciating. I'd never really hit someone full on like that before. I wanted to fall over and just hold my hand in pain but i was too pumped with adrenaline to feel the full pain. The drunken man fell into a group tables, collapsing to the ground with beer spilling all over him.

I glanced over to Christopher who was against the wall terrified of what just happened. His eyes, i'd never seen so wide before. Fear. Even though i'm sure he just as drunk as the guy i hit he was well aware of everything now.

I waited a minute for the man to get back up but thankfully for him and i both he did not. I took a step towards Christopher, it was time to leave before things got worse. When i reached for him he tried to pull away in terror. He knew i wasn't going to hurt him. Drunk or not. So, taking his arm i pulled him out of the intoxicating dark bar. Everyone stared at us as we departed. Great.

The air, crisp and still cold as a winter's night. Hardly anyone was around as I could see my breath when i yelled at Christopher, "What the hell were you thinking?" I threw my hands up.

"How'd you find me?" He remained distant, fearful of me.

"I tracked your phone!"

"What?!" He looked upset now, "You can't do that! That's illegal"

"Oh shutup! If it wasn't for me you could be getting the shit beat out of you," I pointed back to bar behind us.

"I could handle thank you very much!"

I glared him.

Was this drunk bitch really really acting this way? I told myself over and over that he was drunk. Let it go.

He folded his arms, trying to show his masculinity fighting the temperature, staring back at me. His half plastered face struggled to concentrate.

A man, it was clearly a man, in a dress? I think it was. In a red dress long sleeve dress, high heels, a blonde curly wig, and cheesy makeup existed the bar and came towards us. I prepared to hit another drunk. Oh lord.

"Excuse me sir," He tapped Christopher on back, "You left your coat."

"Oh. Thank you." He took the coat from the man in the dress.

After he put it on he noticed i was closely watching the transactions that just conspired.

"Now, ...it's not what you think!" He started.

The Vault was a bar for homosexual men.

"What are you doing at a gay bar?!" I asked sternly.

"I'm not gay." He pointed out.

Staring at him his face got even more serious and reder.

"I'm not gay."

He started to not so sneaky, slip away from me.

"Stereo typically gay man always wear tight pants. It like a mating call. And just because my pants are abnormally tight tonight doesn't mean i'm a homosexual."

What?

His contradictions were starting to make my head hurt. What the fuck did that mean? Christopher's drunken state was quite embarrassing in public. He needed to be taken inside before he got himself into more trouble.

"Where are you going?!" I called to him.

"Home!"

I knew that was a bad idea. If John saw him this way, (not that i ever met the man) it wouldn't go over well. Christopher needed to go somewhere to calm down and sober up. I sighed. It sounds like that somewhere was going to my house.

I grabbed the back of his shirt collar and dragged him back to the cab i had waiting.

I'm a babysitting a plastered fuck tonight. Great.

"Get off me! What are you doing?" Christopher threw himself around until i opened the can door and threw him inside.

…

Christopher's drunk statues was starting to finally kicking in and take control of his walking. His body swung side to side until we went inside and he fell onto my living room couch. He looked exhausted, becoming beyond relaxed. Maybe he'd just fall asleep and we'd call it a night. I hoped.

It was almost midnight, everyone went home beside Butler Taylor. Dismaying enough, he lived here with me. His room was thankfully on the second floor. No way for him to hear us.

I brought Christopher back a glass of water from the kitchen. He did not moved from where i felt him. Now he looked like a hollowed out log. His head back, mouth open, hands in his lap. Pupils the size of grapes. It was kinda unnerving to look at.

"Here." I offered him the glass of water.

Once more, he did not move. Just continue to hollow himself out and stare at my ceiling. Frozen in a trance.

I placed the water on the table in front of him and took a seat across from him. I studied him. Dark brown steel toed boots, correctly enough tight dark blue jeans,a grey sweater vest with a black button up. His sandy brown hair was a mess.

"I..." His voice was weak, "wanted to surprise her with a fun date i planned but I walked in on her fucking another man."

I sat there unsure on what to do. I wanted to get up, leaving him to sober up and go do something down in the basement. This was uncomfortable.

"She never loved me. I knew she never would. You know...," he looked at me, "I had to basically beg her to date me for a month. My parents really liked her. They pressured me to be with her." He shook his head, "I should have listened to people. They told me she was a whore. Last spring break... i heard she fucked some guy. When i brought it up to her she played her stupid games. Crying and hitting herself. Making it look like i fucking did it! I've never laid my hand on her!" he clenched his fist, "I'm having second thoughts now."

I moved around in my seat when he brought up the spring break party. If he found out it was me, oh fuck. It'd wouldn't go over well. It was Trevor's fault. But i don't even remember meeting Julia or what necessary what happened.

"Calm down." I said in a deaf tone. I was telling him to calm down as well as myself.

I knew she was going to hurt him. It was just a matter of time. Shame, the outcome of all of it would look like this. He was a mess.

"What do you even care? You have other things to deal with."

I focused on him not giving a reply.

"...Stop staring at me before i come over there and knock your teeth down your throat." Christopher's tone was serious but not carrying much of a threat.

"I punched a drunk man for you." I said dragging it out

Guilt - make (someone) feel guilty, especially in order to induce them to do something.

He pushed himself back into the couch, slugging his back, "I know! And i thank you for it. I was probably about to get my ass handed to me if you hadn't shown up. Is your hand okay? He was a big guy."

"I'm fine." I glanced at my hand.

I watched him cupped his tiny hands over his face, rubbing it several times. I could hear the stubbles grind against his hands. By the time he finished his eyes were filled with head-in tears.

Oh God. Don't fucking cry. I can't stand to watch it.

"I really loved her," he said looking helpless, "i should have known."

His eyes were still watering, just second from breaking down into a wailing cry. Inside, i panicked. I don't even know what to do. I'm not good with stuff like this. Emotions and i really never saw eye to eye. I let my body do what it thought was appropriate, legs shifting over to the couch where he sat, falling down onto it, giving a good amount of space to have his release of emotion for this slut.

"It happens." I unknowingly said.

Probably nothing i could say would help, i was sounded ridiculous.

He held his head in his hands and sobbed as quietly as he could.

"...When i told my dad... he fucking told me it was no reason to.. break up with her? She was TOO fucking... perfect of girl to let go. He acted...like it was basically my fault?...So i thought, if mum cheated it just be okay? Fuck no! ...It wouldn't." he swiped his nose on his sleeve. Crying still like a child. "It wouldn't fucking surprise me if she cheats on him. ...He's never fucking home. Never. He's always with that Sherlock. What they do is beyond me," Even the sound of his name made my skin crawl, "but he somehow makes time to control my life."

"You don't want to be a detective?"

He sniffled, "No.. i do. It was the next best choice that he'll approve of. ...Only because i've wanted to be one ever since i was little. I've stayed loyal to it... He thinks i wouldn't make it though... and if i don't i have to go to Medical School. I don't wanna."

"It's your life..." My voice trailed off.

Christopher was in more pain than i could understand. I just needed to shutup and let him vent.

"You think so, huh? No, it's not. What John Watson wants ...he fucking gets. I try my damnest to please him. Make him proud of me. Being the son of a brilliant, successful and iconic man is one of the hardest things have to do."

Imagine being the son of the very man who got your father's those titles.

God, he was speaking like me when i first came to England. Dying my fathers image. If only he knew how trying to impress someone and fulfill their expectations was one of the hardest things a human can do. It was honestly impossible. It creates something inside you that wasn't personalizable. Just a soul copy of someone else.

"You can't always live up to people's expectations, Christopher."

"I've lived my whole life trying."

A moment of silence fell upon us. Nothing to hear but the singing silence.

Then, Christopher shook his head balling up his fist up into his hair. Grabbing handfuls of his wild brown hair, "Ughh! i miss her!" He changed the subject back to whore, "I gave everything to her." He said crying harder than ever.

Honestly, i was tired of hearing about her. It was selfish of me to know i had helping hand in the fall of their relationship. Yet, i sat here annoyed to hear about his pain. It was cruel of me to know i knew this day was going to come and i didn't even warn him.. I had no idea i was going to be so deeply involved. Fuck.

"I gave her my virginity!"

Oh god, he was starting on personal things i really didn't need to know. I had to get him to shutup. I don't want to be emotional separated and mentally scarred. I wrapped my hand around his head and pulled it down onto my welcoming lap. It was something my mother always did when i was upset. It honestly worked. Christopher didn't fight it, he laid his head at the center of my lap, hiding his crying face. He pulled himself into a fetal position, needing this comfort. I didn't like the idea i was going to have to be the one to give him this comfort. But what could i do? There was no need to get any closer to him than just this. Bad idea. At the same time i was more than okay having Christopher's head in my lap as he cried uncontrollably. It's the most i could do.

I can't put my finger on why i acted so crazy to the man that put his hands on Christopher in The Vault. Or why i got that fire feeling inside me when Julia kissed him. When people touched him i wanted to snap on them. I didn't want be around him yet, at the same time, i was always thinking about him and his small self. He mystified me. I have never met a human like him. It was a good and bad thing, good, 'cause of the learned experience, the worthiness of his presence and a another step closer to Sherlock. Bad, it was only a matter of time before Mycroft found out he was my semester partner. I couldn't create a fantasy of what would happen. Nothing i want to happen that's for sure. I stopped trying to hide him from Butler Taylor, it was pointless. If he told, this time, i'd kill him. No doubt about it.

Looking down at this special human his body was still. He must have fallen asleep in the mists of his tears. He needed the rest anyways. Christopher would pay for his drunk journey tomorrow. I ran my hand over his hair, it was soft to the touch. Damn this boy. He was making me do things without him i normally wouldn't. Acting aggressive, protective, hormonal, selfish/selfless and like a complete idiot. What was happening to me? I felt so sentimental.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Christopher. :/ The pitiful thing. Do you like Julia? What about Christopher? What'd you think of it over all? Leave me a review! Follow, favorite! Please. ^.^ I NEED YOUR HELP: I need a last name for Julia, got a idea tell me asap! Next Monday, Chapter 17: The Pressure and The Surrender. Christopher is grieving over Julia still, and Roman's had it up to here (imagine what you wish). But as time moves on Christopher is making it more apparent of just how he wanted to cope. Once Roman catches on he plans to give him exactly that, but not without breaking him down to nothing. Emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Wanna know more guess you'll have to wait til Monday! Love you guys.
> 
> Sorry for errors.
> 
> About the story, this a new note. I personally think it's starting to get good. YES Roman will be meeting his father soon, i promise. Be strong my loves. I think you'd like the up coming chapters ^.^ xoxoxo


	17. The Pressure and The Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Christopher is not adjusting to his breakup very well so Roman has to kick it in high gear just so they don't fail and so Christopher can see he's pulling them down. However after multiple threats Christopher does not change. He's playing type of game Roman knows all too well.
> 
> Fair Warning: Uh. It just kinda happened. Haha i didn't give a it much of warning and i'm not sorry. Some smut for yeah health BOYXBOY Viewers discretion is advised. Some dominance, sexual fore play and yeah. Enjoy me loves.

Chapter 17: The Pressure and The Surrender.

I found myself sitting inside a bijou sized cafe, looking out a large window. Vaguely watching people on the opposite of the glass pass carelessly by me, not giving a second glance back at the window. The many hues of ores strolled by winking a flicker at me. Concentration. People were always too focused, their colors clearly showed it. Oh the things human miss.

Such as right now i'm watching a widowed wealthy older women arrogantly walk her rat sized dog, because of their snobby intellects they amble with nose in the air, even the dog. But what she doesn't know a poor man two blocks back decided to follow her. Planning to rob her? Possibly, the way he carries himself, keeping a wide distance between her and him, peeking around every corner looking guilty, head sunk down into his coat it's looking more like so. And i mustn't forget the couple that just passed by in front of the window. A blocky, too big of a body to fit his head man complaining a bright eyed, fair haired young lady that wasn't half bad looking. The problem you ask? He's a cheater. Basically grooling at any and every women that passes by. Even once, i noticed him quickly wink a red head walking into the cafe. Looking but not really seeing.

I don't remember how i really got here. I couldn't say i took a cab, my legs felt restless, and the type of shoes i choose to wear, (black oxford dress shoes) my arches of my feet were throbbing. My hair was knocked out of place by the slight breeze. And lastly, I did have on a heavy overcoat. Yes, i walked.

I searched out the window like on the hunt. I wasn't really, just noticing the innocence of the dirtiest people. I didn't get out much anymore.

Anyhow, I was actually on a mission. Nothing big, just a simple cup of London's finest coffee, or so they say. I occupied myself with looking out the window until someone assisted me.

Of course, Christopher was somewhere in the back of my mind. After that night, the night i saved Christopher from a blocks drunken rage and his reckless behavior over his cheating girlfriend, out of pity i took him home to sober up. There, he poured his heart out to me about his pain for Julia and his father. He tried to dive into personals with Julia and him but i wasn't going to listen anymore. I must have fell asleep stroking his hair because when i woke up he was gone. Leaving nothing behind.

Later, i hadn't heard from him. He did not reply to his text nor did he show up for school. After the week had ended i couldn't help but worry. What was his problem? Had i overstepped some boundary i wasn't aware of?

"What can i getcha young man?"

Ahh, i remember the second part of my reason now. I'm at Christopher's mother's cafe. He said he worked here on his free time. It was a normal Saturday so Christopher would have to be working. He no longer had a girlfriend and by the looks of it, not many friends.

"A coffee, black. Please."

From the corner of my eyes i glanced a look up to the person who was taking my order. It was a older women, short blonde hair. Loose curls at the bottom, slicked to her head, it reminded me of a 1920's pin-up doll. Aqua blue aged eye, kind smile, light makeup. A dark fuchsia pink ore reflected off of her.

Mid forties, married for about twenty years, but not exactly happy. A obvious cat lover, average health, good blood circulation. Oh, what this? Wrinkles tell stories. Mild depression, and over emotional tendencies. What tragedy spiked this? Anyways, Clearly the owner of this establishment, if that's true then this is Christopher's mother. Mary Watson. John Watson wife. Christopher had her eyes. It was harmless to be here. Sherlock's flat was block away and what business would he have being here? He didn't drink coffee.

She left before i could say anything.

Awkwardly looking around it was a basic cafe setting. Brown painted walls, with checkered tiles flooring, brown booths, the bar. Pictures of London hung all around. Big Ben, The London Eye, and Towers of London. How basic. It smelt like many brands of coffee and sugared treats. Inviting. It made me think of my old home, back in America. Quickly, i buried that thought back away.

"What are you doing here?!" A voice spoke sounding panicked.

Busy looking everywhere else i brought myself back in and looked from whatever i was staring at and adjusted my eyes to Christopher. I knew it was him.

Not even trying to hide the fact i was basically 'checking him out' i noticed him dressed in other than normal. Cheap black dress pants, a white button-down dress shirt and plain black tie that looked a little too big for him. His hair flat to his head.

"Getting coffee." He seemed surprised by my blatantly answer. "Why haven't you been at school?"

"...I... i just can't right now." He looked away from me.

"Why?"

Frustrated, he twitched, "...I'm just not ready."

Before i spoke i rolled my eyes and sigh deeply with aggravation. Christopher tried to break our eye contact but i followed him, "We don't have time for you to take a "timeout" in life Mr. Watson. When are you going to grow up and take some damn responsibility? "

Honestly, I was discussed with his failed excuses.

"You don't understand." He said quietly.

"I don't need to understand. It's not like i can get a new partner so..."

"And i don't want you too!"

Attentive to his response i studied him harder sadly, Christopher strained to maintain eye contact. Always looking left, or down. His breathing nervously hastened. He had a look on his face like he hadn't realized what he said.

"Your coffee sir, black." Christopher's mother returned while we remained in our noticeable, "Christopher… do you know him?" Fearful she took his arm.

"I'm Mr. Adler, Christopher's Human Anatomy partner." I smiled at her but still looking at him.

"Oh!" Laughing she patted his back, "Nice to meet you Mr. Adler. I'm his mother, Mary Watson. Christopher has told me all about you."

"Has he?" I raised my brow at them.

His face began to get sheepish.

"Oh yes! If it wasn't for you i don't think he'd be making it through the course!" Her pink ore was giggling, "He's a bit squeamish."

I held a smile, "I see."

I paid her the correct amount of money for the coffee and she went along her way. Leaving Christopher and i alone. She was nicer than i expected honestly.

Now back to point.

I noticed Christopher wasn't staring at me anymore. The floor was his new focus, chewing on his nails while i put on my coat.

"You better be at school Monday." I said in a low tone.

"Or what?"

I walked up to him, as i passed him i stopping just at his ear, and i whispered, "You don't wanna know."

I left the cafe i striding in the direction i was sitting to see Christopher still standing there. Until like everyone passing by they of course did not notice the warned boy standing there. His fingers still to his mouth and even through with the thick glass window separating us i could see his face blushing a shade of red i've never seen before.

…

Luckily for Christopher he returned to school that Monday. Of course he was still emotionally raw about his breakup with Julia. Even though my visit at the cafe was to threaten him about his performance over the project that behavior did not change. For the first week of his entry he slugged around. Not really focusing on the task at hand, staring off into nothing. I noticed he checked him phone often possible hoping for a text message from Julia or simply to watch the clock. He hardly did any work, just fiddle with his pencil and sigh constantly. His mind was elsewhere.

He must not have been sleeping much at home. He repeatedly fell asleep during lectures and when we had to do afternoon labs. Usually within a half hour of labs he was out. I didn't even bother to wake him up even when i was finished, i just left him there. One time he told me he didn't wake up 'till a little after midnight. I'd already left for home while he was still at the university to wake feeling confused, out of place and a throbbing neck pain to top it all off. Was I a terrible partner? No. It was my form of punishment for sleeping so much. But at the same time if Christopher wasn't sleeping he was complaining about Julia. Morning over their breakup. Claiming that he still loved her and missed her. Truthfully, I was getting sick of hearing about her after just one day of it. Who wouldn't? There was no winning with him. Either let him self and fall behind or listen to him gripe about the slut.

Our final was less than two months away and we were dangerously behind because of his teenage problems.

When the second week was up I'd had all i could take. No more. He was going to pay for all the unbearably unpaid rant therapy i was chained to.

The only thing that seemed to shut Christopher up was when i gave him job that needed his full concentration. Such as studying blood, tissue and bacteria cultures. Or performing false autopsy. For practice and peace of quite. Which surprisingly enough he was getting better at. I heard less of "i can't" from him and more of "now what?". Whatever i could do to keep him occupied

Like i said, i did my best to keep Christopher focus off of that worthless whore and on the actual matters at hand. Me and this project. What i didn't understand, at first is when he returned to school he was majorly heartbroken and depressed like i explain earlier. Then he went into this stage of carelessness and random emotional outburst. Happy, sad, pissed extra. When week two rolled around that Monday he was different. Not back to his old self, no, but ditzy, giggly, touchy and distracting. I didn't grasp this behavior. Drugs? No. I don't know. I could almost call it flirtatious without the actual meaning behind it.

Flirtatious - Behaving in such a way as to suggest a playful sexual attraction to someone

However, it wasn't to me. If so i didn't find it very flattering. Christopher fooled around with the girls in class and played the game quite well. I was… impressed. Jealous? Hardly.

Some that new-found energy did rub on me when we had labs. Christopher tried to pull me away from the project and to do whatever he wanted to. When i was feeling overly declined i made him keeping working. And that's when the strange behavior conformed to a more, appealing, amusing and tempting aspect. He acted like he had no idea what he was doing. Completing forgetting how to adjust the objective or switch out the stage chips. And when he requested for my help it became a sport of position. He didn't move away from the microscope. He purposely made it to where i had to stand behind him, just like the first autopsy i made him do. Feeling my presence behind him, breathing on him. Dominating him.

When he did something to piss me off he seem to liked when i got in his face. Looking like a bashful puppy but the intention of a fox. By the end of my scolding his face was beet red.

Later than sooner i was caught onto his game. The game he played with everyone but made it special for me.

Because Christopher missed so much school he was failing most of his classes. He got a letter that stated if his grades did not improve by the end on the marked time he would fail the class early and maybe be kicked out of the Students In Training: Criminal Investigation program. And since i didn't have much to do I took time out of my work to help him catch up. Helping with Studying tactics, basic chemistry, and general classes. Honestly, my favorite class to aid with was his Interrogation Class. I got to see him first hand make a fool out of himself to fake anger, get aggressive, ask the right self-incriminating questions and carry the body language out like a real cop. It was fun to watch the small young man fluster himself to death.

I really enjoyed to be around Christopher when he wasn't self loathing.

…

It was one of those slow days. Christopher and i had labs until ten and it was only seven, three more hours. I don't know if i was going to make it. We had plenty of work to do but Christopher was looking extra tempting today. Hair waved like oceans on his head. The same brown boots he normally wore, regular jeans, and a cream colored jumper with a ugly pattern laced around it. It spring time, enough with damn sweaters. I wasn't dressed any better though, black slacks and a white button up. At least my sleeve were rolled up.

While i was filling out some paper work i had Christopher observe some abnormal DNA samples. It was easily for me to become distracted by him and his compacted self. Two weeks of endless rants and expressionless tease was going to end here. I knew what Christopher wanted. It was just a matter of when it was the right time. Perfect timing.

"I don't see anything," Christopher said studying.

"This is the third time you've said that."

"Because i don't see anything." His voice cocked an attitude.

I sighed and walked away from my prior entertainment. "I swear..."Coming up behind him i claimed my usual spot trailing him. I placed my hands around to get to the microscope. This time, I pressed myself against him more than normal, "You should have learned how to use a microscope back in secondary school."

"...I forgot." His voice was raspy.

While repairing the objective i pressed myself again Christopher harder, my chest nearly touching his back. He let out an involuntary gasp.

"There. Don't fuck it up this time." Holding back a seductive smile I painfully removed myself from Christopher and went back to my paper work. My anger was more than a show.

Watching him for second he stood still, low breathing. My, he was about to fall apart. Second away from doing so, tick, tick, tick, tick. I wasn't quite ready yet to make my move. I wanted to work him, set him off then reel him in by begging for it. That would be lovely.

"Why were you at The Vault?" I asked looking at my paper work.

He turned, a confused expression on his face, "Sorry?"

"That gay bar."

"...I was drunk. I don't remember."

"Oh? You weren't out trying to mend your broken heart with oppressed fantasies?"

After soon the last syllable left my mouth he shot back with, "What? No?" He walked over to the table where i was sit, "I'm not gay. I was drunk, you know that."

I glance up from under my lashes, "Alright Christopher."

He shifted his weight onto his right foot, then back to his left. Licked his lips, trying to read me. His temper was chard flares, "You know," he began, "I've known you for almost four months now and i don't know anything about you. I mean for God sakes i poured my heart out to you drunk and i don't even know your first name. "

He decided to change the subject, that was fine But not to me.

"Mr. Adler or ..."

He cut me off, "I know! Mr. Adler or Adler which ever i prefer. Yeah, yeah."

I nodded slightly and continued to write.

"What is it?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does! I spend almost every day with you and i all i pick up is bottled up tension, a distant personality and mental age of a seventy year old!"

"Yep."

Christopher sighed in frustration and balled his fit,"I get it." He shook his head several times, "You one of those people."

"One of those people?" I questioned.

"Yes! You are completely shut out. You look at human kind as if you are ferior and possibility better than them. We are nothing but a continuing disappointment. You are by far a perfectionist but you put people on pedestals like one. You don't get close to people because they don't meet your expectations. No one will ever get to know you because no one will ever be good enough."

I looked to him, "That's not true."

God, if Christopher only knew what i was trying to protect. Him, protect him! Look at everyone else that has became involved into my life. And the outcome? Did he want that to happen to him.

"My father tells me to stay away from people like you. You're shady behavior and distant intellect. A world of danger i don't even know or have a clue about. "

Dangerous - Able or likely to cause harm or injury.

"You have no idea." Our eyes locked in a heated, burning, tension.

I gave him a half cracked smile, striding around from the table to him. My body was overpowering his, devouring his guard hole. I kept my eyes on his has he took a step back.

"I'm not scared of you."

"You should be."

I laughed lightly, "I think you've known for awhile what possible dangers i could be packing. He blinked, "But you keep insisting yourself to be in my life. Even knowing that you shouldn't. You're practically dying to know what i'm about," I sighed, "Well you're seconds to finding out."

He began to back up, as i kept walking towards him. He didn't look scared, more like interested at the comfortable distant i was invading.

"For the past two weeks i've endured you whine like a spoiled child over your cheating girlfriend. Bitching over a woman who you said never loved you in the first place is extremely dull. My patience are like sand Mr. Watson." I kept walking, "I've pulled majority of your weight during this project. If it wasn't for me you would have already failed out of this class. I've tried to remind you of your responsibilities over, and over, and over again and yet, have you listened once? No. Mr. Watson, I'm letting you know now, it's getting very tiring some." Because i was no seriously upset I was about to say something i'd either regret or feel relief for the rest of my time with Christopher, "The funny thing about Julia is… there's nothing to miss. She wasn't even that good."

His eyes widened, his mouth fell open and at the same his body hit against the wall leaving him breathless.

"...You slept...with..."

I placed both my hands on the wall leveled at to his head then leaned in, "Spring break, last year."

Really, i had no idea they were dating so it wasn't like it happened out pure spite. Plus i was on all kinds of levels of fucked up.

His face froze between utterly pissed and shocked.

"Now tell me, how enraged are you?" I whispered to him.

He wasn't saying a word so I was expecting to get punched in the face or something. Instead, he left out a loud sigh/helpless battle cry and grabbed my shirt, pulling me towards him quickly. His lips slammed hard against mind. They were stiff and slightly wet. A clumsy movement.

I was sober, clean and well aware that Christopher Watson was indeed kissing me. And not a drunk induced kiss, a emotional build up kiss. I don't do this, i don't kiss. Oh god, but his lips were so warm i had to return back. I felt drunk. Falling deeper into his kiss my hands fell from the wall to his cup around his fiery cheeks. Folding my lips over his It began a battle fierce motion. It felt so cynical, so lecherous. I'd never felt lip quite like his. When my tongue unknowingly slid into his mouth, ah, it was grant. Tasting like hours old mint. His mouth was dry if he spoke but with my tongue exploring his mouth i could say otherwise. God, i was melting. His tongue, tripping over mine. They played, tangling together. Just astounding.

It felt like we were kissing for forever. It wasn't enough, i wanted more. Sadly, i couldn't breathe properly with flying hormones and adrenaline pumping i had to pull away. Christopher tried to follow me as my mouth departed. His eyes were overflowing with lewdly when i looked at him. He wanted more too. I couldn't help myself so i dipped down and placed my lips on his again.. He was a beautiful mess.

"...I, God...i… want you." Gasping for air he spoke when i moved down to his neck.

He was so desperate.

I, myself couldn't just hear those words without an reaction. Fuck, i had to have him. Right here, right now. I wanted him more than what he knew. I couldn't just let him see though. Now that wouldn't be fair. I needed to be strong.

"How bad?" My voice was strained.

Standing up straight my height overpowering to his. I was breathing down onto him. I could see the goosebumps going up his neck. He struggled to look at me, continuing to pull my now crinkled shirt closer to him. Grinding himself just right.

"Please..."

It wasn't really the answer to my question but it'd have to do.

I jerked him back into one last steamy kiss and heaved him from the wall by the hips. I back up and swiftly spun him around until i felt him bump the lab table. My hands jumped down, gripping the material on his jeans as well as a handful of his solid form. He was considerably hard. When i squeezed it he pulled back from our embrace and moaned emphatically. As soon as he did that i felt his hands join mine. Shaking, he undid his belt. I heard his pants with nervous excitement. Damn.

Before i noticed Christopher was turned around, his back against my abdomen, hands propping him up on the table. He really wanted this. He needed this.

I kept on task. Quickly, i pulled his pants down as well as his boxers, letting them fall to his ankles. Okay, i don't think neither of us were exactly prepared for this. Lubricate isn't something i carry everywhere… anymore. So, I had to improvise. I couldn't keep him waiting much longer. Spit for lubricate. When one finger was exceptionally wet i kicked his legs apart.

I teased my finger, genitally circling his hole. After seconds of teasing, finally i slid my finger inside him. He let out a short moan. Once he adapted I moved my finger slowly, trying not to hurt him. Damn. It's been awhile since i've done this.

Christopher was moaning more, along with his breathing getting louder. All i could hear is the faint cries coming from him. Fuck.

One finger wasn't enough and by the sound of it two, or three wasn't going to be enough either. He loosened so well around my finger.

I hadn't even realized the now painfully, aching erection forming out of me was. I was this turned on? I had to do something about it before i burst. With my free hand i unzipped my pants and pulled out my throbbing problem. I couldn't wait. Oh god.

Slowly, my finger departed from him and i prepared myself. Strangely, i was nervous. My hands quaking. In my defense i was out of practice.

Suddenly i saw Christopher reach forward to his coat, upon his return he held a reflective silver, small square package at his fingertips.

"Here."

I took it from him. A condom. Had he been planning this the whole time? Did he come here today knowing i was going to fuck the complains out of him? Well. I smiled at his kinda preparedness.

I ripped it open with my mouth like a ravaged animal. My hands were too busy terribling and grabbing at Christopher. I peeled it on and prepared myself. But first, I did my best to slow my breathing, pace myself and take this slow. I could really hurt him if wasn't careful. We weren't set with the proper essentials to be doing this. He wasn't prepared correctly. I'd only used one finger. He was so small, so easily broken.

We both were nervous i could feel it. The awkward tension was present. But with all other sexual tension filling up the empty space, it had to be done.

I positioned myself at his a deep breath, I pushed myself inside Christopher. His body stiffened up close enough to be rigor mortis. I couldn't hear him breathing anymore. He threw his head back, just barely i could see the painful expression he tried to hide. A traditional expression made at first entrance.

"Breathe Christopher," My voice, thin air.

I didn't proceed any further, I let Christopher adjust himself first. When his head fell and i heard him breathe again i began to advance. It started off slow, scarcely active. I wasn't even all the way in. Could he handle it? I ready myself to pull out at any moment.

With me hardly doing anything he was already a mess. Melting right from under me. Breathing exceptionally loud, he didn't even try to hold back his painful lord, Amazing.

When i thought it was safe I started to roll my hips softly. He felt wonderful. So tight, so sexy, so lustful. God, all of this was not enough. My thrust began to speed up, sinking deeper into him, giving it up so easily.

Grabbing his hips he yelp, but processed to grow increasing louder with each thrust.

"Ahh." Christopher said gasping for air, "F..faster."

I must have found something very inviting when i grabbed his hips. He was asking for more.

Keeping my pace, i reminded him of the very reason we are where we are.

"...Are you sorry for what you've put me through ...these past two weeks?"

He grunted, "Yes...please."

"Say it."

"I'm sorry, ahh..."

I happily complied to his command this time. I wanted to go faster myself and i did. I noticed my fingernails were dug into Christopher's hips as my thrust became erratic. God. This felt so intoxicating.

What?

Something inside me was resurfacing.

It was coming back. Those erotic feelings i had so long ago. I gave them up. The desire was there. Chemicals were reformulating. My heart rate was increasing dramatically, as well as something hot flooding my brain and drowning my veins. My eyes saw doubles all around and gravity was cut off. My erection was pulsing inside him. Going crazy like a broken machine. This pleasure was a gorgeously reawakening. Oh how i've missed it, i missed this all. Christopher Watson was injecting me with an addictive, non lethal poison called my very own. He felt so- i felt so good. Fuck! How i've craved this. I chased this high for months after Ms. Lang, it never could be fulfilled and now here i was rediscovering why exactly i became addicted. It was back.

Smiling.

I found myself trying to push deeper inside Christopher. My chest pressured his back. I needed to be deeper. My hand came up and forcefully shove Christopher down onto the table. His hands collapsed as he fell, letting out a loud cry as i went in more. Honestly, If anyone was outside they would surely hear Christopher moaning like a whore. Damn. With his chest, arms and face pressed against the table i watched him moan. His mouth open wide, trying not to like he was enjoying it more than he should. Impure. Lustful. Sensual. All of this was ever so sinful.

"...Fff..uck." His words bounced.

Slamming now into him, hard, punishing him. This was the closest i'd ever been to Christopher and i never wanted to leave. Oh, fuck!

He started to buck against me, cries matching my slams. He was so fucking good. I was unknowingly grunting in the wave of this pleasure as well. A caged animal rest to bust...

In 5... 4… 3...

"I'm...going to cummm!" His fits were clenched, biting his knuckles.

He recklessly pulled himself up to have his release. His muscles tightening all around me. The feeling of him tension up made me slammed into Christopher a couple more times…

The tip of all my demand was hitting its peak. I was seconds from jumping of the edge.

2… 1.

And it was all over. The orgasm was hitting me like a oceans trail wave. The unforgettable crash i craved each and every objects in the room seemed do a quick rainbow spring and then to settle into the ground and reality was setting back in. Fuck, that really just happened.

I pulled out of Christopher and fell back against the wall breathing not as loud as him. I removed the used condom off and threw it away in the waste bin beside me. I took a second to gather myself, collect reality. That orgasm was remarkable.

Once i tucked myself back up, button up my pants my jello legs wiggled over to get towels to clean up Christopher's mess. When i returned he was fully clothed again, just fanning out his jumper.

I left him to his cleaning and returned back to my seat before all this was… whatever you wanna call it happened.

I glanced down to my watch: 8:52. Still an hour left of labs.

"Uh.. you can go home for the night, i'll finish up here." I said scrabbling something i can't remember now down on to paper.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You look exhausted."

He gave no thought to my over confident humor putting on his coat.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Just before he opened the door I blurted out something that wasn't really important anymore. It was relevant nor a concern. We 'worked' everything out just a couple seconds ago but i felt compelled to tell him anyway.

"It's Roman."

He stopped, holding the door, "What?"

"My first name is Roman."

He took a second to let it sink in then smiled happily at me, "Goodnight."

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Are you still alive? It came out of no where, almost haha i know. I hoped you enjoyed it! But what is Roman going to do about his wakened addiction? How is he going to manage? REVIEWS OR NAH? Follow, favorite! Chapter 18: The Exam and The Gift of Goodbye Got any ideas of what is to come? We have the exam and a moving gift of goodbye be pared to cry. (probably not) The feels bro. Kinda.
> 
> The help for Julia's last name is still needed. Have any ideas let me know ASAP (by Wednesday)!
> 
> If you really enjoyed the smut you can read more in my side project The Only Man I'd Ever Love. Basically just Johnlock so enjoy. (Has nothing to do with this story) Just recently updated.
> 
> About the story, this a new note. I personally think it's starting to get good. YES Roman will be meeting his father soon, i promise. Be strong my loves. I think you'd like the up coming chapters ^.^ xoxoxo 4 CHAPTER COUNT DOWN.


	18. The Exam and The Gift of Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Littler Summary: Today is the big day! Roman and Christopher's training has lead up to this! Will they pass? Some light uhh i don't know what to call it but expect some interesting stuff. The gift of goodbye? What could that be? Prepare to cry? Or naw. Breathe, just breathe. Enjoy.

Chapter 18: The Exam and The Gift of Goodbye

Things changed between Christopher and i after the night i pulled him out The Vault. Taking him home with me to sober up. Letting him cry on my lap over his siren girlfriend, now ex girlfriend i assume, and his controlling father. He was sincerely heart broken. And things remained changed up to the moment i practically fucked the English vocabulary out of him during our an afternoon of labs. But after that, all went back to normal. It was as if nothing even happened. Christopher got what he needed and now it back to routine. The task at hand.

I'm not sure if i was okay with normalcy. The resurrected sexual needs were back and stronger than ever. I knew i just was a "rebound" for Christopher. Something to help speed up his recovery over Julia. Don't get me wrong, i was well aware of that before it happened. I just had no idea it'd make me remember that amazing, intoxicating release. Endorphins rushing to my brain. It's never hit me this hard before. My heart felt like it was going a million miles an hour and my mind was losing focus. There was no time to linger and attain my continuing needs so i placed myself back on lessened hormone stimulates from the asylum and kept distracted with our project. However, this took a toll on my attitude towards Christopher. It was back to the constant barking, commanding and poor patients. Maybe in a twisted sense it kept me at bay from going crazy like many times before.

Sometimes when i tried distracting myself from the pleasure i received from Christopher I broke down in desperation looking for substitutes. Someone around his age, charming looks, mind-freezing smile, cocky attitude. Sadly, the height was extremely rare. When i reached my peak, after i had to basically exert myself to do so it was nothing. Bland, insignificant, and completely ordinary. It was Christopher who made me feel that way. Dammit.

Why would you do this to yourself Roman?

I knew better than to try and go for a second time. He deemed himself a straight man over and over again. And when i dared to think of not caring and doing it anyways Mycroft shows himself from my inside thoughts. If i became deeper involved with Christopher than just partners for a Human Anatomy project the outcome would not be pleasant. Someone was bound to get hurt and with how things have been for the past years, it was the other people who got hurt not me. Mother, Mr. Heartly, Ms. Lang and Trevor Gallagher. Three dead for sure and one, MIA. (missing in action) People i got around to know ...misfortune things happened. Christopher being the son of my father's colleague was just stepping into a world of nightmares.

But i couldn't help it. My god. All i did was think about Christopher. The kiss, the sex, his smile. Damn. I was stuck in a mind of either endless pleasure or a mind of endless tortures. Oh, how i was prisoner to all of this.

I should have never got involved.

…

Five months of practice, training and meaningless repetitive labs have all lead up to this moment. Today was the Final Exam. A exam that decided if Christopher passed the class and for me? Determined whether i graduated this May or not. My job, it being my second year in the class was to be the ideal partner, student and teacher.

Then again, i wanted to fail. The thought of redoing the class with Christopher sounded rather interesting. The second, and third time around we could actually learn material about the class and fix our mistakes. Then again, that'd be a bad idea. I was risking too much. And for what? The semester was over, i'm moving on with life.

That is, if i wanted to live.

"I don't think i can do this."

I was too busy gazing out to hear someone talking to me. Lost in my battle field of thoughts. Pleasure and pain. Fantasy and reality. University and the Real World.

Forcefully i brought back myself back to the present moment. By the way Christopher was looking at me i could tell he said something negative.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, "You'll do fine."

He looked up at my from his lashes, "I'm so nervous i could puke."

I smiled faintly at him then began fixing his tie. Damn, he looked good in a tie.

"Well don't. Or i'll make you eat it."

He laughed, trying to mask his fear.

From the corner of my eye i saw Ms. Ryelle hobbled over to us. Bringing her radiant ore and bright smiled along with her.

This was it.

It was time, no going back.

All or nothing.

"Mr. Alder, Mr. Watson. Are you ready?"

Once we finished our exam we were sent to the lobby to wait on results. It was a hour long exam and with over twenty-four students participating it would two days to get results since Ms. Ryelle graded them on her own. Thankfully, Christopher and i were one of the last couples to go. Results were expected to come any moment now. Bitter sweet.

"Adrenal glands? We fucking have those? I thought it was just some chemical produced in the brain or something!." Christopher said pacing around my chair where i sat sipping on some coffee.

"You did fine."

"No! That's probably a ten point deduction!"

"Hey. Look at it this way: if you fail, i fail."

He stopped in front on my chair. Once i slowly looked up at him his face was discussed. Maybe i hadn't realized what i said.

"I don't want you to fail. You wanker!"

Wanker? That sounded like more of a sexual compliment rather than an insult. That's how most British insults sounded to me though. They were never threatening compared the American slander. Prat, wanker, slag or even berk? Am i supposed to be hurt by those?

He went back to pacing around my chair a minute later.

Once the results were in we nervously watched numerous people leave jumping for joy and other's crying like babies. Acting like life was all over and i'm sure for some, it was.

When i was told i'd have to redo the class again of course i wasn't happy about it but i was expecting it from the moment the project was assigned. This year, on the other hand, i had a partner, one that i nearly killed and broke to nothing but we made it.

"Mr. Adler, Mr. Watson." Ms. Ryelle approached us with two small blue slips of paper.

We stood clear to attention. Nervous, eager tension in the air.

"I've passed eight out of twelve pairs today. Some, just barely." She sighed, "But, today i noticed something i haven't seen in a while since i began to teach."

She handed us our slips of paper.

"From day one i watched you two struggle. I wasn't sure if you were going to pass, honestly. Roman, you are your stubborn, controlling attitude. Christopher your weakness towards blood and lack of presence in the classroom," She glare at us, "However you've created a new light inside each other. I haven't seen teamwork so well put together as i have with you two. Yes, you guys had your problems but you manage to get through them." She smiled "Congratulations Mr. Adler. You will be graduating this may and congratulations to you too Mr. Watson. Your father should be very proud."

Christopher let out a loud sigh of relief and shook Ms. Ryelle's hand. Than began to literally shake me. On the outside i broke into a smile, and perhaps i felt joy, but i know, i felt it, i was a bit disappointed. This was it.

Ms. Ryelle laughed, "You two make a great pair. Congratulation."

"Thank you!" Christopher laughed then wrapped his arms around me, squeezing.

Once she left he was still hugging me. I liked his touch but breathing became difficult. Plus, i felt a mental panic come one.

"Alright. That's enough." I began to pry him off me.

He ran a hand through his hair, still surprised over our passment.

"This is great! Do you want to come over to the cafe to celebrate?"

Since it meant being with Christopher, just for a bit longer sure. But knowing John and possibly Sherlock would be there it was best that i didn't. My day didn't need to be ruined by getting carelessly shot down. Did Sherlock know Mycroft had people watching him, watching for me?

"No i'll pass. I've got things to do."

"Com'on! If it wasn't for you i wouldn't have passed. You need to celebrate."

I put my coat on.

"I said i'll pass."

…

Even though i was set to graduate there was still two weeks of school left until the graduation. I still had to report to Human Anatomy for the Final lecture and my final class exam. Truly, bittersweet. So, with that, i hung around Christopher. Only at school. I did my best to distance myself from him without it being so notable. It was hard to do myself anyways. Slow and steady was the best way. Drag it out as long as i could.

I didn't have to planned to attend my own graduation. I had no reason to. My idea was just to receive the diploma through the mail. It was less of a hassle to buy the needed material and plastic emotions. I wanted to start my own work as soon as i could. But going to graduation or not wasn't going to speed that up, Mycroft said it'd take a couple weeks to get my name and morgue entered into the right paperwork. Government mandatory.

When i told Christopher my plan of how i wanted to finish my last day at school at home, he protested. We literally fought for three days over it. But don't think I had intentions to back down. Me getting up on the podium to get a piece of paper, give a short-shitty speech and to take a cheesy picture, for what? A memory with no one to share it with but a human i'd never see again afterward? Spare me, please.

To shut him up, i told him i would. But i had another idea.

Everyone had emotional faces. Some crying, others held in bottled up energy. Damn those long ceremonies. White, blue and red gowns everywhere, looking their best. While i wore my usual. Black. Standing off into the distance, off from the massive inside auditorium. I listened to the dean read off the names of people while staring at Christopher waiting, anticipating for my name to called. He look awfully attractive even from here. Wearing black slacks and a faded pink, well salmon dress shirt and his work tire. Maybe salmon wasn't his color but he still looked handsome.

I had to move quick, my name was in the top ten names to read off the list. Once it was three away I darted across the room to wear Christopher was sitting. Gratefully there was seat next to him. Clueless at he was he didn't even noticed when i sat down. I watch his facial expression change once my name was called and my seat was left empty.

"Wha… where is...?" He muttered to himself.

I leaned over, "you look terrible in that color."

Christopher's head gradually turned, once his blue eyes matched mine his face changed slowly as if time fell into slow-motion. Surprise, displeased and upset.

"What the fuck are you doing?! You're supposed to be up there!" He hissed in a loud whisper.

I couldn't help grinning at his vexation.

"You really thought i'd get up there and embarrass myself?"

"Embarrass yourself?"

"Look around Mr. Watson. All the families, relative and friends. Where is mine?" His mouth wanted to move but it didn't so i continued, "Yes, there maybe some reserved seats in my name but all students who make the dean's list get a couple reversed seat and then some." Our eyes locked, "Maybe i was hoping for a miracle."

I don't think Christopher knew exactly what miracle i was referring too. The slim chance that Mycroft or even Sherlock himself would come to attend my graduation. And at a long shot, my mother. Of course, sad as it was, this is reality. She was dead and they were merely by standards in my life. Unaware of this very day.

I stood up, taking Christopher's hand. I pulled him through the doors of the University outside to a sunny day before us. Small puffy cloud lingered in the sky. Slow moving traffic sounds in the distant. It seemed like everyone who wasn't in a car of some sorts was attending the graduation. It was just me and him alone in this moment.

Everything was bright, green and peaceful. It burned my eyes. Fuck.

"You're going to regret not doing that."

I know i was just a rebound. It honestly meant nothing more to Christopher than an escape for a dark time. But times were hard for me right now. This was it. My last day as a university student. I was now a real adult. It was time to grown up. Live my life in any direction i wanted. Wistfully, i would not be bring Christopher along with me. He still had two years left and given my circumstances he wasn't one of the thousands options i had in life.

My eyes kept fixed on his, he looked unsure on how to act. Moving his fingers and licking his lips. God, he was extraordinary. I'd never meet somebody like him again. No one could compare. Christopher was special.

I felt sweat run down from my head and nerves poked out to my skin, eating me alive. My mouth went dry and i couldn't physically remove my eyes away from him, not for a second. I needed him. I wanted him. God dammit! Kiss him! Just one more time. What do have to lose, really? .It.

JUST KISS HIM!

"I may regret this more... If i don't do it."

And outside in front of the world, even though no one was around or watching, i swiftly grabbed Christopher Watson and pulled him into a hard kiss. Alright in plain day. For anyone, or no one to see. I didn't care.

His lips were just as i remembered. Mushy and smooth. Getting wetter with the existence of my mine smashed against his. I held my hands around his soft, hot cheeks and embraced the kiss. Not moving my lips but simply, pressing them against his. My God.

I didn't want to pull away, no, but i had too. I heard the door open behind us.

Of course the awkward silence came. My eyes when back on Christopher, squinting from the intensity of the fiery sun.

Christopher searched around calmly to see if anyone was watching. Gathering himself. I braced myself for the worse. Cussed out, slapped or punched. I could have crossed a line no one could see but him.

"Now then," he pulled something from his arm i hadn't noticed earlier, "I got you something."

I blinked. Confused.

As he handed me a black, poorly folded cloth it handled to be thick on weight but soft on fabric. I glanced down on it. By the way it felt It was a doctor coat, only black. With Mr. Adler embroidered in white on the side.

"I know how much you like black… and doctor coats." He shrugged, "You'll be needing it i suppose."

"Th..thank you."

"No problem."

Our eyes found each other again. The sides of his mouth perked up, a smile. Damn, i could kiss him again.

"Oh! Uhh… ha. Kiddish, i know, but my birthday is next week and my parents are throwing me like a party. Would you like to come?"I went to speak. "There won't be a bunch of people there. Just my dad, mum and my aunt Harry and I think dad said something about Sherlock coming. Maybe he could give you some tips on deduction."

I could have easily said no if he wasn't carrying such a hopefully smile. Big blue, puppy dog eyes.

"We'll see." I muttered out.

He nodded, "Alright. Well i have put my shift in at the cafe. I'll text you later?"

"Sure."

I ran my fingers over the white embroidered letters. This was one of the best gifts anyone has ever gave me.

…

The party starts at 7. Are you still coming? -CW

I'd honestly forgotten about the party. In the past week i've been wrapped up in cleaning everything up in the morgue for inspection by the government. I was guaranteed and most likely to have my own business already. But competition would be stiff. Molly Hooper was basically running the largest and busiest morgue in London. Most legal services took their business up with her. Her team was huge. I was just one. Butler Taylor was too old and too dumb to even know the difference between a aspirator and a hydroaspirator. The Maid Kate had a weak stomach and fainted almost every time she witnessed me working.

But on the other hand, i was enjoying my silence down in the basement. Working from sun-up to sun-down. Competition or not i was going to do what i loved. Working for the environment, not the money or fame.

I was brought back to the problem at hand. The party. If Sherlock was going to be there i couldn't go. I'd be killed on stop. I have yet to actually put Mycroft's words to test but by his attitude and demeanor i'm sure he meant it. In one way or another.

I couldn't ruin Christopher birthday like that. besides, i didn't want to die.

I don't know i'm pretty busy. -RA

Ok. -CW

It was six o'clock and i wasn't busy. Not at the moment anyways, i just finished up an autopsy and now i was cleaning equipment. Thinking about the party in the back of my mind. What should i do?

I sighed to myself and finished washing tools.

I've worn the doctor's coat Christopher gave me everyday since he gave it to me. I hung my gift up on the rack by the exit. Gazing at me it for a second. Memories.

Sigh.

Then went on to get a shower.

After my shower i went to laid on my bed. Wrapped in a red cloth rode everything felt warm. I contemplated on actually getting dressed and going to the party anyways. Maybe no one would see me if i slipped in the back? I wouldn't provoke Sherlock. Better yet, i'd probably avoid him. He wouldn't know i was his son. He didn't have to know. Hell, no one did but Mycroft, Molly and i.

My only purpose for going was to see Christopher.

My eyes were getting heavy.

I haven't slept in… well i don't remember but it had to of been quite sometime. It was never a good sleep without someone next to me. Making me feel safe. But of course, the times i did sleep, times i had to sleep I hated it. Alone. Nightmares.

10:13pm. That's what the time read when i looked at my phone.

I slept for five hours, uninterrupted. Damn.

My phone had four unread text messages.

7:12pm: The party started. You coming? -CW

7:50pm: Hello? -CW

8:57pm: The party is over. You didn't come, i was hoping you would. -CW

9:35pm: How was your day? -CW

His last text wasn't even a hour old so I unconsciously replied.

Boring. How about you? -RA

Realizing just how stupid that sounded i slapped a hand on my forehead. Really Roman? Stupid. It was too late to take it back now.

I waited for about five minutes get no reply. Either he was asleep or pissed off at my idiotic, non-conscious and foolish message.

It was i guess what normal people would call 'late. Everyone was bound to be home. Sleep hopefully. Even if Christopher was asleep i could easily wake him. I wanted to see him one last time.

My original plan was to say my goodbyes at graduation, be done with all. But evidently it wasn't enough for me. Why the hell not? It's his birthday.

It was the end of May, London was heating up for the summer. By force, and for my health i did not wear black. Sure, it was night fall but black still collected heat.

Tan slacks, black loafers and a light blue button up shirt. I don't see why i felt the need to put some gel in my hair, but i did. I haven't cut in in months. The curls were started to revive. Ugh, Sherlock.

Feeling like a Easter Sunday I took a cab to Christopher's house.

When the cab pulled up to his house i noticed It was only a simple white one story home. Small on the outside, flowers growing everywhere with a large cherry blossom tree in the front yard. Must like this house, it symbolized the Watson family. Plain at first glance but unique to second wing.

I couldn't just go up to the door, knock, and be invited in to some tea. His parents were there. Sleeping i hoped. All the lights were out.

I went up to a random window and looked inside. Ambivalence. It was black at first but once my eyes adjusted i saw what could be Christopher's phone light up his face, barely showing from the screen. Could i be sure this was Christopher? Surely not John? Damn. They looked so much alike.

Window Trees. -RA

It was the first thing that came to my mind.

I watched for his phone to light up again. It did. I even heard the buzz. I observed his face show confusion and mutter something like "What the fuck?" form in his mouth.

God, i was so paranoid.

Just testing, I pushed up on the window. It was unlocked.

I was grateful for my height right now. I could easily swing my leg over inside. Once I got my leg in i pulled the rest of my body with me. When i looked up Christopher his face was white, fearful and lost on what to do.

Once he realized it was me he helped pull the rest of my lengthy body in.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His whispered voice hissed.

"Why the fuck are your windows unlocked? You stupid or something?" I flicked his forehead.

I sat myself down onto his bed, the springs squeaked at my bodies impact.

He quietly sat down beside me, trying not to look panicked, alerted and puzzled on why i was here.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's your birthday."

"Why didn't you come to the party?"

"Busy."

He stared at me while i observed his room. It was limited in size. I wasn't use to a room this tiny so i leveled my selfish breathe. Oxygen was on count. Bland, dull, monochrome lay out. Egg shell white walls, a telly in front of bed. A study in the corner with a laptop on top of it. The only appealing thing in room (besides Christopher) was the number of trophies, medals and plaked awards that hung on his wall. Damn.

I pointed to them as to say something.

"Football, baseball, track, cross country, yes they are different. Chess, GPA, science bowl and experiment fair." He ran through those as if he'd said it a hundred times a day.

I turned my attention back to him.

"So how was your birthday? What all did you?"

"Pretty good. Uh.. My mum got me some cloths. My dad gave me money. Oh and. He smiled big. "Sherlock got me a gun."

I swallowed a bit nervous at the fact Sherlock gave Christopher a actual gun. Why would he give Christopher a gun?

"My dad has it right now. You should have seen the look on his face when Sherlock just pulled it out and just handed it to me. I thought he was going to have a stroke. But he's going to teach me how to shoot it only we get it legalized." He nodded trying to think of what else to say, "Oh! Sherlock also was able to get someone i could job shadow over the summer. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Mentally, I was still stuck on the fact Sherlock gave him a gun. Oh God.

"...Never heard of him." I barely said.

"I've only met him a couple times. Him and my dad don't get along very well."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Something over Sherlock i assume. They honestly fight over him like a toy, i swear."

Predictable.

Remembering i brought Christopher a present i snapped out of rushing thought craze of Sherlock and Christopher gun. Fuck.

"Hold out your hands." I directed him.

He complied with riding suspense.

From my pocket i pulled out real metal handcuffs.

Note, i'm not really one to give gifts nor good am i wonderful at picking them out. But when Christopher and i would practice his Interrogation class he really seemed to enjoy the authenticity of the cuffs i possessed.

"Handcuffs?" He asked more than said.

"I know how much you eyed them when we would practiced for some of your classes so i thought: I don't have much use for them anymore, why not? Plus, They start you out with cheap ones in the law force. These are real, they don't make them like this anymore. The metal was too expensive to buy and melt down."

"Thanks." He scanned the cuffs deeply and smiled at me.

"I also got you something else. I ordered it late so i'll have it mailed to your address when it comes."

"What is it?"

"A bullet proof vest. Again, they don't have starter detectives wear them anymore since they face no real danger. Mainly just examine and do a shit ton of paper work. But i think otherwise. It's not a bulky one, you'll barely notice you have it on."

I heard from the darkness him laugh quietly.

"Thank you, again."

I wanted Christopher to be protected since i wouldn't be there to do so. I always had the need to protect him. Having a gun didn't really set well with me but it was for safety. I know. Now with proper handcuffs and a bullet proof just in case he gets into stupid, yet ironic situation he has a better chance at living.

He's just such a dits.

Anxious, i shifted around and swallowed hard. Breathe.

"I got you some else."

He snorted, "Jeezs. What else?"

Hesitantly, like a innocent school boy I leaned forward and planned a small kiss on his pink smiling lips.

When i pulled back he was staring at me profoundly, keenly and seachful.

In a blink of an eye the atmosphere thicken around us. God, i wasn't use to this collective space.

"I….I..." His mouth would not be vocal.

He grabbed my shirt, squeezing it against his force. Crinkling it. He pulled me forward to him smashing our lips back together. They were drier, hot and hunting as usual. He was shy on how to start, leaning. Once my lips locked over his he melted into it, as did i. Instantly his tongue flicked out, sliding into my mouth effortlessly. God. He was so good. My tongue met his and swirled in a slow game of tag. I wasn't about kissing but damn, how bad i needed to kiss him. All of the time.

I felt more of his tug on my shirt. I moved in closer, he pulled me back then before i knew it i was on top of him. My knees between his legs. His meager size was nothing compared to me. I hovered over him like a hungry animal seconds from devouring it's pret. We continued to kiss, deeply. fiercely. He tasted like cake frosting and cheap wine. His body was on fire, nearly breaking a sweat.

When he began to rut himself up against me I knew i couldn't go any farther than this. It wasn't a good idea. This was my final goodbye to Christopher. I didn't want to mess it up by leaving him high and dry.

He didn't want me. He didn't need me. I had to go.

I pulled away slowly, regretfully from him. His eyes were solid lust searching my eyes for something, anything.

"I have to go." I softly like silk said.

He groaned, "Why? Don't go."

"I have to work in the morning."

I pulled myself up from Christopher. Staring down at him, holding back. God, i really didn't want to leave. I stood over him. He sat up staring up at me, wanting, begging like a puppy, Oh god. I need to get out of here before it's too late.

"Happy Birthday." I drug myself over to the window, looking back at him one last time. "Goodbye...Christopher."

I left out the same window i came into.

I didn't get a cab. I wanted to walk home. Revisualize the memories i had with Christopher. Holding back from just punching something. Helpless, i didn't want to leave him. Holding back from crying. There was no reason too. Breathe.

I was use to this wasn't i? People leaving? But this time i made the choice on my own to leave him. Just to project him. God, i hate myself.

You are protecting him Roman.

Honestly i was going to miss him.

His smile.

His voice.

His body.

His taste.

His smell.

His very existence.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...What'd you think? Reviews, follows, favorites are amazing! They make happy. Anyway sad? I know. I'm sorry! How do you think Christopher is going to feel? He has no idea. But Chapter 19: The Compromise and The Conditions. Another time jump, not by much but yeah. Uhhh i can't really say much but viewer direction is advised. Haha. xD It's going to be a dandy! Now, i'm not real sure when i'll have this chapter up. Hopefully by Monday but no promises. Why? Cause i'm about to pound your ass with some plot! Yes, it's finally here! I mean it's only a TINY hint at what is to come but oh it's happening! Forgive me if you've hated this story because... a lot of reasons. I'm sorry. I wanted to make a fanfiction that was kind original kinda not. You know? Thank you the support and just pushing it out with me. Love you! Honestly. xoxoxo
> 
> Some new: I've recently started watching Hannibal and MY do i love it. (You need to watch it, i recommend) Want me to write a fan fiction about it? Too bad. :/ It's to well written for me to go disgrace it up. I mean so is Sherlock but i think i've done with the original chapters.
> 
> About the story, this a new note. I personally think it's starting to get good. YES Roman will be meeting his father soon, i promise. Be strong my loves. I think you'd like the up coming chapters ^.^ xoxoxo3 CHAPTER COUNT DOWN.


	19. The Compromise and The Conditions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: It's been a couple months since Roman has seen Christopher (Unsure on exact time maybe 4 or 5 months). And during that time a lot had changed as far as Roman's job goes. He's kinda famous. Plot, we got some plot. Then we have a pleasant surprise with a good ending.
> 
> Content Warning: Smut bro. We got some power play and just ol' controlling Roman. BOYXBOY Don't like, don't read. Love you! Haha enjoy!

Chapter 19: The Compromise and The Conditions.

Fall was just around the corner and like nature, people were dying. That how it always went. The coming of fall to winter, cases increased because the death rate rose. But it was a slow rise, maybe on a five percent difference. Until you hit December, then it could explode to a twenty-six percent increase and it continued to go up 'till about March. There were many different reason to die in winter, illness, weather and mother nature. And surprising enough, the murder rate went up as well. Summer time? Forget about it. Jack Frost was your biggest concern.

During the summer people died in strange, preventable ways. I had one guy come with a shovel impaled in his ass. It was clear he bled to death. What reason did i have to perform an autopsy? Cause of death: Being a moron. But you're not allowed to put that on a death certificate. Instead for cases such as that one you simple have to force yourself to put Obvious Reasons. As they weren't obvious enough if they were in my morgue.

Honestly, i was excited for winter. I loved it for more reasons than just death. It was cold, i enjoyed the cold and the snow. A blinding winter blanket of frozen water just laying on the ground. Freezing everything in place. Making the earth look reborn when spring came around. But this winter i had the pleasure of adding my job in the picture. This should be fun.

Since i was a small business i wasn't busy as probably Ms. Hooper was. I had five to six bodies a week. And none of them were a quite a challenge. Nothing interesting. I craved the need for curiosity. So out of her generosity i was given the opportunity to help Molly out on the weekends during the summer. Just like back when i job shadowed with her, only i had a better understanding of her and this job. She was lonely, clearly unhappy. Married and two children but she was missing something, or someone. Molly often talked about Sherlock. Reminding me that i'm a far better person than my father. I was kinder, (I don't see that) less rude and made her laugh instead of cry. What reasons would i have to be unkind to her? Sure, her lack of self-esteem was a bit ridiculous and she tried to hard, i still respected her.

Father, you heartless bitch.

On the other hand i was doing exceptionally well for a team of one when i worked alone. I preferred that. Depending on a hospital or forensics (I was only allowed to do hospital autopsies) the average time is about 24 hours to complete. But since they were handing me easy, one shot, first glance bodies i could have a complete, full in favor autopsy finished in three to four hours. So when i helped Ms. Hooper out my talents did not go unnoticed. I was offered a job at the morgue with Molly as a co-head manager, i declined it. Then when I beat some London record for the number of bodies examined and finished in one week i was given a grant to upgrade my equipment to the latest and provided a staff. I'd basically be working for parliament on special federal cases. Three months in and i was already worth a million dollars. Making almost that a month. However the reason i came into this field was to stay away from people. Stay in the shadows, not to be something important to someone. Or a nation for that matter, i'd only disappoint. I took the grant shamelessly but rejected the staff and position on parliament. I reminded them though, i was always available for emergencies.

Annoyingly enough my name got out to the public, being placed on the front of a local English science news magazine. Explaining my ability or science on performing autopsies, the time and possible methods i used or new theories i reduced. It also mentioned how i have a running morgue under my house yet i don't have funeral home. Molly Hooper and i collided on that. I read somewhere that i had some association to the vile Irene Adler. All of these ideas were no more than assumptions and weak research. Nothing to back them. No one has ever interviewed me or hacked into my personal bio because it didn't not exist. I should have expected that a couple papers would lie and say i was some mad scientist. A killer. Since i never left home and i was alone. No one knew what i looked like so I kinda like the little bit of fame i received. People would walk by, stare at my home, take pictures and some had the courage to come up to my door asking for an interview.

I felt like The Great Gatsby. Because of the rumors and the unknown identity. Some of the rumors i read online was: i'm some creepy old man. A mad scientist. But i think they were talking about Butler Taylor. He's older than time itself. Or that i was Irene's father or resurfacing lover. Gross. Other gossip that moved around was ...fantasizeable. I just a wealthy single man, urinating for the love of a beautiful woman with my common interest. I wanted to puke. However, i did like one article i read that said I was basically the average tall, dark and handsome. Now that's better.

It was honestly like fifty shades of grey, only morbid.

When Mycroft heard about my sudden upraise he was in support of it as long as what was being said wasn't libel. A couple times he revoked newspaper companies licenses to write anything about me. Everyone else took it as threat. I don't understand what all the fuss was about.

Sure i was no Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective. But what bunch i knew about little or cared to know was my personal specialty.

Anyways. When i said it was my final goodbye to Christopher it was. I no longer remained in contacted with him. He went off to training a weeks after our depart so for a month it was rather easy. There was no way he could talk. When he came back though, the game began. I only returned his text to keep him from coming to the house.

What are you doing? -CW

Nothing. -RA

Want to go get a drink? -CW

Can't. Busy. -RA

It was hard to be this way toward him. It took a lot out of me to do it. But it was for his own good. I was protecting from a demise worse than death. A bullet proof vest couldn't save him from what Mycroft would do to him. He made me learn if you care about something, leave it alone. I'll only fuck it up. I didn't want Christopher getting hurt.

I thought about him every damn day. It was taking a toll on me. I wouldn't get anywhere in the funeral industries if i couldn't get my head out of my ass.

…

11:09pm

I was finishing up some paperwork in my study. It was hardly a busy day. Two bodies came in. One was internal hemorrhaging from the brain. And the other two i had yet to uncover. They came in late, i was to tired to dive in. But from first sight they were ravage. Someone had gutted them open with a poor Y incision. They were still alive when cut open. The cuts were sloppy, careless but controlled. You'd think extreme blood loss. It was just skin being cut. You could live with immediate proper medical care. None but one of the organs were touched. A hole straight through the chest. Something's missing, the heart. That's what No where to be found around or in the body.

I had a victim very similar this one last month. Exactly the same shape. Found exactly the same way. A recently graduated primary teacher. It was a male, 21 so i thought it was a revenge from a parent whose child got too friendly with the teacher. But when no suspects were ruled out and undecided motive i was baffled.

I decided to call Molly. Maybe she could drop by to help me in the morning. It was late but she often stayed late at work. Such a miserable women. If she wasn't in i could just leave a message.

"Hello?" Her voice answered.

"Molly? Mr. Adler. Hey, a body came in today just like the one i spoke about a couple weeks back."

"The live autopsy victim?"

"Yes. Only this guy's a personal trainer. Other than that same profile."

"Oh," Her tone was sorrowful, "...do you think it's the same killer?"

"Yeah, do you think you can stop by tomorrow morning to help check?"

Silence spoke in the background.

As I waited for answer i shifted away from my bookcase to look at my door. I felt someone's presence. It was probably the Maid Kate coming in for her paycheck. I set my focus on the presence. It wasn't the Maid Kate.

It was Christopher.

He stood at the doorway of the room, his hands to his side. Acrimony, enmity, and outraged in his eyes. They dragged, dark circles under them. His breathing was race and His skin was a shade darker. A coat was crinkled in his grips. He wore pricey black dress shoes, slat slacks with a thick leather belt around his hips. A white button up, quartered sleeve, and a shiny black tie. But one thing that seemed to catch my attention above all the rest was the classical gun holster wrapped around his shoulders and chest. A gun was clearly present. Fuck.

My mouth went dry and my stomach flipped.

I almost forgot i was on the phone.

"M..molly i'll call you back. Bye."

I hung up the phone. Not taking my eyes off him. Watching his every move.

"Why are you ignoring me?" He clenched his teeth together.

Even from a distance i could feel his anger reach me. Choke me. His words shot through me without warning. I wasn't aware of Christopher's purpose or motive for being here so i answered with caution.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are! It's been two months since i've heard from you!"

"I lost my phone."

"It's in your fucking hand!"

I looked down to find that indeed i still had my cell phone in my hands. I slowly laid it down on the desk and kept my eyes on him.

"You said you were in basic training." I implied.

"That was three months ago! I've haven't seen you in since my birthday. "

"I'm busy." I cocked an attitude with him, "You've had to of read the papers."

He took a couple steps towards me and with each one i counted my blessing. I envisioned Christopher just pulling his gun out and taking me down right there in my own home. But of course, that was far fetched, unlikely he could ever do something like that.

My heart was racing in my chest. God dammit. However, i made sure my expression was dead on the outside.

"If you don't want to be friends anymore ...just tell me!"

I laughed at his response, "I clearly don't have friends."

He clenched his fits. The coat was shaking with his grip, "If you want me to leave you alone. Say it. Say it to my face."

The tension in the room was thick. I couldn't breath freely. Christopher's upset consumed the room He had my atmosphere in his control.

I can't say anything. God, i don't want him to leave but i'm doing what's best for him. Im trying to protect him damnit! Damn you Christopher Watson. If Mycroft found out i even knew you existed the punishment would be… ungodly.

"...Alright then. I get it." He nodded to himself, "I was just a ride along to your diploma and a quick fuck."

"Whoa!" I laughed. Putting my hand up in his face. Maybe i was crossing lines by laughing at him but his words were foolish, "I was your rebound."

"Rebound? What is that?!"

"A quick screw to help you through that damn break up."

He wrinkled his nose. Looking at me disturbed and confused.

"What? No! You weren't a rebound."

I stood my ground but i felt taken back by this. It was all intentional.

"I mean finding out you slept with Julia ...i hate you for that but...I...just tell me to leave!"

I felt my body jerk at the sound of her name. God, i hate her.

"I'm doing this for your own good Christopher." I said trying to stay on track.

"By ignoring and avoiding me?!"

I came around from around my desk, slogging my footstep. Still treading lightly.

"I'm trying to protect you..."

"From what!" He yelped in aggravation.

Our bodies were inches apart. The body heart rolling off of each other. Chest to chest, almost A gun shielding his. Since i was taller than him i made my structure dominate him. Taking back the control in this room and Christopher.

"You have no idea what kind of person i am." I said from somewhere deep inside me.

His mouth went dry and he licks his lips nervously trying to keep moisture.

"...I told you I'm not scared of you."

"Yes you are."

Christopher looked at me like he was going to trip over nothing but air if i didn't back off. Talking crying like a child.

I sighed and relaxed myself.

"Fine. You wanna be friends." I leaned against the desk, giving him room to breath. "Sure, but under my conditions," I folded my arms over my chest, "Understand i'm a busy guy. I don't have time go out for drinks or "hang out." I'm not a university student more. I have a real job. Okay? And you are not permitted to come to this house without my permission."

He took a double shot at me and blinked, confusion and offensive expressions painted on his unsure face.

What? No. I don't like that. We aren't project partners anymore."

"I know, but I despise rude interruptions. Take or leave it Christopher." I shrugged.

Realizing he was defeated as he nodded. He continued to keep his eyes on me. Wanting to say something but the words would not form.

"Is there anything else i can help you with?" I said.

"...Uhh..no. No. I'll be going then."

He mentally collected himself. I watched him turn around and hesitantly walk towards the door. Each step taking longer to finish. His small fist kept balling then releasing.

He quickly turned and stormed himself back over to me. Moving so close to me, i leaned back just to see his expression.

"No..that's...that's not why i'm here. I mean... it is but..."

Christopher bit his lip, not looking at me. His cheeks red. Shifting his weight from the right, left, right, left foot.

"What else then?"

"I...you...please. I can't." He stuttered, "You're smart. Read my mind."

I smiled slight and tilted my head, "What is it Christopher?"

The noise in the room focused on him. All eyes on him, waiting. All you could hear was the sound of his breathing.

"...I can't." His voice was a whisper.

"Say it." I demanded him.

"Please..pl...don't make me say it."

I held my devious smile, "I'm not going to do anything until you say it."

He shook his head repetitive. His cheeks getting redder, sweat exposing his intention.

"Just one… one more time. Please." Christopher huffed out.

I slowly reached out, taking Christopher's hand, pulling him closer to me. Startled by my touch he jumped but complied. The heating radiating off our bodies was enough make our cloths melt off. I was stealing his air. invading his personal space as if it never existed. My finger gently cupped his chin, rising it slowly.

"I...i..." It was barely audible but enough.

I pulled Christopher into the a heavy moist kiss. Producing a hush smacking sound, then skipping straight to the tongue. He tasted like weak alcohol and cherry, oh so delightful. As our tongues played Christopher and i switched places. I lifted him up, setting him rather roughly on the desk. Papers scattered off the table into the floor around us. He let out a high pitched moan at the impact but not breaking the sloppy kiss.

I forced myself between his legs. Our throbbing erections grinding against each other. I felt his hands reach up and fingers intertwined in my hair. His cock, hard as rock, rubbing against mine. I dropped down to his neck. Nipping, biting, sucking it lightly. Leaving my mark.

All this reminded me of Ms. Lang. Back in therapy. But with Christopher, this was better. Way better.

I stopped everything as i helped Christopher out his holster. Throwing it on the floor harshly. I went back to kissing him while, unknowing my fingers were working on unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers tripping over themselves. Trembling. Fuck.

After struggling for what felt like forever, i finally got all the buttons undone. Exposing his chest. Pale, nipples erected. I ran my fingers down, just barely touching. Noticing how the goosebumps waved and crashed on his body. I pressed my hand on him, pushing him down on his elbows. Hearing paper crumble under him. I began place small kisses in the center.

My hands kept moving down quicker than my mouth. When i reached the trimming of his slacks, i used both hands to undo his belt and unbutton his slack. Without a moment to spare, i lifted up from his chest and moved down to his feet. Ripping his shoes off, throwing them over my shoulder.

My eager hands returned back up to the waistline of his slacks. I pulled them down briskly, witnessing his erection hop out of it's constriction. Christopher's body was exposed from the hips down. His white shirt barely hanging off him. I left him still wearing his black tie.

I was still, for the most part still dress. Christopher was able to get a couple buttons on my shirt undone before giving up. Other than that, clothed.

"How bad do you want this?" I asked in a strain voice as grabbed onto his tie.

His eyes were weak, filled with desire. His breathing escalating, "Sh...shamefully bad."

I wrapped my hand around his sizable cock, it was thick, hard and hot. I began to jerk him off lazily. Kissing him slightly.

"Beg for it."

He moaned at my touch. unable able to look at me.

"Please. Pl… i need it..." He huffed, "I need you."

That was enough for me.

I moved myself over him, opening a desk drawer. I felt around until i pulled out a small bottle of lube and a condom. I was unintentional prepared this time.

Both, overly nervous, we locked eyes. Trying to match the inhale, exhale, inhale and exhale intake of air. Christopher gave me a look of reassurance and i continued on. Dripping some lube on my finger, slicking them up then slipped them between his ass. He shutter at the wet, coldness. At the rival to his entrance he gasped, like he was breathing cold air in the morning. Steadily i sled one finger in. He threw his head back trying not to groan too loud. But the sounds he was producing sounded like a swarm of bees in my ear. His voice, lustful. Damn.

I moved my finger slow, let him get use to it. After he looked to settle i began to speed up. His body was shaking, looking so beautiful. He was amazing. God.

I couldn't help but enter another finger. Just only having two fingers inside him he seemed like he was ready to come. He through his head side to side in the depths of this pleasure. His mouth left open to make intelligent words. His face, growing in color when i sped up, even a little.

"F...uck!" He grunted balling his fist.

I kept going on for a minute, thrust my fingers deep inside him. Just savoring him falling apart. Piece by piece. Then i pulled him finger out abruptly.

He groaned at my retreat.

Christopher sits back up to help me undo my pants and pull out my pulsing erection. My God. Quickly and error i tear the condom wrapper open and roll it onto me.

Returning my attention back to Christopher i pushed him back down with a kiss. Then I position myself, holding up one leg. When I push inside him i noticed how much easier than last time it was. But we both were more prepared this time. The sexual build up was thicker than last time. Lustful thoughts.

My thrusting starts off slow, control and weak. It looked almost as if i wasn't moving at me. I focused myself on Christopher who was melting, dissolving around my cock. Panting, moaning his cock twitching.

I felt his legs wrap around my hips, pushing me deeper in him. He let out a gorgeous moan that i'm sure anyone throughout the house could hear.

I rolled my hips a bit faster now. Listening to him moans and squirm under me. His was addicting to look at, damn. Astoundingly amazing.

Out of curiosity I grabbed his tie and began to put it tight. Restricting his airways. I counted to ten before letting ago. He let out a exceptionally pleasant moan, Pulling my hair. So Christopher liked being choke. Lovely.

Just listening to him moan when i would release the tie made me start to slam into. Only so i could watch his body jolt against my force. God he felt and look amazing.

"Ahh!" I slammed into him as the air was returning to him, "...Roman! Fuck!"

Roman.

The sound his raspy, panting weak voice saying my name drove my thought crazy. I couldn't think straight. Christopher actually said my name for the first time. Since i told him. God it was incredible! I needed to hear it again to be sure it was real.

"Again!" I barked at him, "Say my name again."

Out of embarrassment that i was actually listening. His fragile arm covered his eyes. However, he did not obey my order. I suddenly grabbed both his arms, pinning them over his head using one hand to hold them up and the other to grab the tie again.

"Look at me!"

Rolling my hips rapidly, slamming into him mercilessly, and pulling the tie. Counting to thirty this time. He was close to coming or passing out as he looked at me with fuzzy lustful eyes.

"Say my name again Christopher."

"Oh...fff..FUCK!" His words were nearly screams, "Roman! Ahh! I'm cumming!"

There it was again. My mind was a mess. It was enough to make me come as well.

I watched his mouth drops open, making a O with it. His body tense up. Bucking up against my erotic thrust. The orgasm was rushing through him, destroying him. Cumming all over his stomach.

Of course I wasn't far behind him. The addicting releasing was about to denote. God it felt grand, liking a rolling a bowling ball down the alley watching it get closer, and closer and then. I finish. A perfect score. And just like the first time, Christopher allowed me feel the intoxicating high i wanted each and every time.

Once reality was starting to plummet back i released Christopher's hands. I removed myself from him and discarded the used condom in a trash. We both were still panting as a moment of silenced honored us.

After stretching my back i guided Christopher off of my desk and helped him gathered up his things.

I came up with an idea that maybe not be such a good idea but it was to late now. I was already talking,"I want you to work for me." I said throwing myself in my study chair.

"Pardon?" He said looping the belt through his pants.

"Work for me. I'll pay you double what you get paid for working at that boring cafe."

"I'm not certified to…-"

I interrupted him. "You don't have to be. You'll do small things. Such as fill out death certificates, clean my equipment and arrange funeral cost and burial with the family." I sighed putting my feet on the desk, "The butler scares people. He looks older than death itself. And too impaired to sympathize with the living."

I heard Christopher give a short laugh, "That's for sure."

"You'll work Monday thru Friday. ….Hmm noon til five. Along with your paycheck i'll repay you with what just happen."

He stopped searching around for whatever he was looking for, looking at me with wide eyes. His face gained back color "Uh… you don't have to do...that."

"Nonsense! I must keep my employees happy. You like it, don't you?" I gave him a smug smile.

He nodded, "But I don't wanna make you do that."

"Oh don't worry." I could feel my smile turn evil, cynical and wicked. "We'll both benefit from it. I assure you" My tone dropped.

His face began to blush, "Uhh alright. But i'm job shadowing Detective Lestrade right now."

"Well stop. You aren't getting paid for it, you've had plenty of time there. This job will look better on your resamay."

He started to look around again. "Alright," he threw his hands up, "Where did you throw my holster?" He said in a giving up tone.

I glanced around the room. I kinda hope he wouldn't fine it.

"I don't know."

Within a few minutes he was able to find it. I sighed regretfully at his discovery. I hated that he had a gun.

I carefully watched him straightened himself out and fix his hair.

"Well i better get going. My dad's probably about to call the cops and report me missing." Christopher laughed.

"Where does he think you are?"

"Julia's."

I distantly nodded. I hated her. God, i hated her.

"...When ...do i see you again?" He hesitated.

"I'll text you."

He nods slight holding back a smile, "Goodnight Roman."

He say it again. My name, and i was smiling.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELLL guess whose back! I told you he'd be around for awhile. So what'd you think? Review, favorite, follow, i like that shit! PLEASE! ^.^ And how bout that plot tho! Who could be the killer? O.O Well you can have a look deeper in the case next chapter! Chapter 20: The Crime Scene and The Doctor Roman is invited to one of the crime scenes and lets just say, it goes over ...ok and just ok. Just remember Roman is a mortician not a detective. That's Christopher. AND someone i adore is making appearance! Who's the Doctor? Oh you know him and love him! However, NOTE his character is a bit different than what he is currently now! I mean, he's a parent and older. All this and more Monday! I wanted to post early cause i'm bored. Love you guys thanks for the support!
> 
> About the story, this a new note. I personally think it's starting to get good. YES Roman will be meeting his father soon, i promise. Be strong my loves. I think you'd like the up coming chapters ^.^ xoxoxo 2 CHAPTER COUNT DOWN.


	20. The Crime Scene and The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: So Christopher starts working for Roman. That has it's benefits and doubts. Can Christopher do the job? Well we will just have to see. But Roman and Christopher get called to a live crime scene to investigate the recent murderers that have been going on randomly. We get to see some more of Roman's okay deductions and smarts! In this chapter we meet A LOT of the original characters Lestrade, Donovan, Mary (not so new) and even Doctor John Watson! Yes Roman meets John in person. (In a humor manner too) Exciting right? ~~Surprises at the end of the chapter~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Content warning: Some smut not much, mainly dirty talk and kissing.
> 
> While reading this i'd suggest you listen to Creep By Radio (Fits perfectly)

Chapter 20: The Crime Scene and The Doctor

Letting Christopher work for me probably wasn't a robust idea. I was putting myself at high risk. But when an addict is in need for their next dose reasoning and decision making becomes something boring people did. I wasn't about being bored. Christopher gave me selflessly what i needed. Once i got that first hit there was no way i wasn't going to quite without a fight. Detoxes. He was more than happy to give me what i needed without question. And i thought the only reason for that was his cluelessness. Ignorant to my problem. It was sad to think i was only enjoying to the hormones he put off during sex and how my release felt rather than his existence in general. I don't know what it was about him that made me so drawn in. Was I a slave to Christopher?

However, I what learned from Ms. Lang was you are a slave your addiction. But when it came to Christopher i sorta contemplated who was really addicted. He begged for me. Begged almost to tears. I often wondered it was a numbing agent for whatever pain he was in. Whether it be from Julia or his unsatisfied father and the expectations he was forced to meet.

I looked at it this way; I was addicted to sex and Christopher was hooked on me. It didn't matter, we both got what we needed.

I stopped trying to hide Christopher from anyone anymore. Butler Taylor met him as well as the rest of my staff. And after that night there was no point, someone had to of let him in. So he was welcome to roam about my home with my permission.

Really, i didn't need Christopher. Or his help in the morgue. I could handle. Plus with his hemophobic problem and lack of knowledge i figured it'd be more of aggravation. Yet, It would just nice to have someone keep me company and replied when i spoke to them. The dead never liked reply. Snobby. He made me feel more human when talking. I always thought clearer, better, and i had more energy.

It was more than obvious as to why Sherlock kept John around. Christopher was putting the same effect on me. He made you feel in control even when you weren't. He allowed me to control him like a puppet. No strings attached. My intelligent's began to grow again. Curious to know more. Learning and memorizing was easier knowing he would if i couldn't. In a backward sense i felt like a copy of my father, for once.

Of course i worried about Mycroft coming to take Christopher away from me but i always pushed it to the back of my mind when it tried to fight it's way to the center of my problems. It's been forever since i last saw him, i wonder if he'd forgotten about me. So i could keep Christopher, i hoped so.

"Sign these." I slammed a packet as thick as my finger in front of Christopher who was cleaning my scalpels carefully.

"What are they?" He looked at the paper work with a doubtful face.

"Consent forms."

"Consent for what?"

"Working for me." I began to thumb through the sheets of paper, "I'm not legally responsible for any injuries you obtain while working. Anything you break, will come out your pay. I'm paying you daily. If you do not show up for work one day you will not get paid for that day. No excuses. This is technically a 'under-the-table' job so no need to fill out a tax form. You know."

He sigh a bit overwhelmed, "Well. Alright."

I went to turn around to go pull a body out from cremation until i remember the whole reason while i made the document, "Oh! Also there's a section in there about your other form of payment."

"Oh jeezs. What is it?"

"Read it find out. Starts on page 59 til 76. I want it turned in by tomorrow morning."

Abruptly Christopher's phone began to ring. Vibrating the counter.

He answered it with much concern. I was hardly listening. Hearing a lot of "Alright" "Okay" and finally "We'll be there soon."

We? Who is we?

"It's only two thirty. You aren't leaving." I ordered him.

Still, he continued to walk the exit, ignoring me.

"You're going with me." He said putting on his coat.

"Me? No i'm not." I said being cheeky.

"Detective Lestrade knows i'm working for you now and he specifically called for you to come. He's been reviewing the autopsies you turned in and this one is similar to what you've been dealing with."

Same age male bodies coming in completely mutilated, poor Y incision, extreme blood loss, and oddly enough a the only thing missing from the body was the only thing that kept it running, the heart.

"Uh. Fine."

Christopher got us a cab and we headed out to the crime scene. I had great uncertainty if this was a good idea. Normally, when the Yard was stuck on a case they call Sherlock. And if he was on his way, ...there'll be another extermination on their hands.

I chewed on my knuckle, staring out the window feeling compelled to turn around and go home. My heart was pounding in my chest, i felt sick. Sweat made it difficult to hold still. I hoped Christopher wouldn't noticed my upset. But with my state i wouldn't be surprised.

When we arrived I stumbled out of the cab with nervous legs. Cop cars swamped the area, enclosing around on me. Breathing in exhaust fumes, smelling nothing but plastic I looked around, taking in my new environment. People in various uniforms rushed around. Chatting quietly and disturbingly enough they still had a moment to stare at Christopher and i. Christopher has had experience with crime scenes so i ruled out i was the main target for eye contact. I was an unfamiliar face in a foreign place. And after all, i wasn't in handcuffs or a uniform. I was definitely something to look at. My black lab coat hanging from my shoulder, swaying side to side with each step. Formal wear underneath it. Slacks and a navy blue button down. But the real kicker was the fact i was wearing sun glasses. And don't think for one minute i did it to show off or make a dramatic entrance because you'd be wrong. Rarely did i was step foot outside so my eyes became sensitive to sunlight and adapt to florescent.

Christopher walked behind me. As if i knew where i was going. Being tall, dark and maybe handsome doesn't mean the moment i walk into something i know what i'm doing. The Warren Harding Error was a clear indicator of that.

A man came towards us. He was short, a bulky structure but not completely muscular. Lose in the stomach area. Salt and pepper colored hair, freshly cut. Large brown eyes surrounded by lightly tan wrinkled skin. A shamrock green ore flooding out his facial expression. He walked with a high position so i knew he was in charge. The man who asked for me over the phone.

Middle aged, divorced, no ring. Children, currently single? A mild drinking problem. Heart problems his footsteps are off center, flushed cheeks could mean blood pressure difficulties or temperature elevation. Breath rhythm is. Sport lover, excess bags under the eyes mean lack of sleep, insomnia. Classified to the average but contrary, sexually and mindfully open. Gullible.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

"Mr. Adler or Adler whichever you prefer." I said holding my hand out for a handshake.

He returned the gesture back, gripping my hand firmly.

"I know. I read the papers." He put his hands on his hips and sighing deeply, "I've noticed your morgue has taken in Richard Andrews, 21, a primary teacher found dead in his home. And, Tanner Laten 21 as well, personal trainer found dead in his home as well. Both victim's cardiac organ missing "

I nodded intently.

"I think we have another." He waved us on to follow him, "I invited you here to see the actual crime scene. Maybe it could help us both understand this killers motive."

We approached a old building with cracking brown brick and chipped paint windows. Some were open, other's broken. There was at least five stories and the body somewhere inside them.

"Whoa! Lestrade you can't have them in there. They aren't certified." A woman's voice sang out.

She was a dark skinned woman. A skinny structure with short afroed hair and flawless skin. Wearing business casual. A olive green top that served her no justice. Clearly something she threw together. She smelt like cheap store bought perfume and french coffee. A flaming spicy orange ore buzzing around her.

Early forties. Divorced once but recently married after five? No ten years of being single, The diamond was well polished and bigger than her attitude. No children, but a step child. Who she can't seem to share daddy with. Aggressive behavior. Judgemental, follow the rules kind of person. Hard to like personality. High standard of living then wanted.

"It's fine Donovan." Lestrade tried to calm her.

"No! It's not allowed. Where's the Freak?"

Freak - behave or cause to behave in a wild and irrational way, typically because of the effects of extreme emotion, mental illness, or drugs.

Greg seemed annoyed by her her proposal. As he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"He's not allowed back anymore."

"Oh! So you've finally had enough of being ran over by the domineering Sherlock Holmes?"

"Enough!" He commanded at her.

She jumped back at his aggression. But soon returned to casting judgments all around. Possibly overstepping her boundaries.

"So what now? You've found a replacement already?" She glanced at me with distaste, "First a freak now… a member of the Adam's family?"

"He's a regular mortician Donovan. He's had the two bodies come in just like this one. The least he can do is have a look. I'm sure he could find something more at the actual settings than over a fluorescent light and a steel table."

She was compelled to answer, biting her lip.

If she uttered another word... i could feel my tongue shake. Begging to say something. But nevertheless, Lestrade or i wasn't not going to sit around and wait. We pushed past her into the building. I glanced over at her as i pasted. Carrying a dark expression of anger.

Thankfully we only had to walk up one flight of stairs. They creaked with each foot step. Mold was drifting the air. The walls seemed to whisper to each other as I was second to walk into the room where the crime was set. It was cluttered with machines parts, game consoles, trash, and unwashed clothes. The small space smelled like sweat and rotting flesh. In a the middle of the floor a body of a obese man laid. Chest carved open. The furniture was splattered in his blood like an artist snung the brush against the canvas and went crazy.

This was nothing like my morgue. The amount of clutter around me made concentrating extremely hard. There was too much information to take in. From the unfinished cooked food in the kitchen, to the static playing on the telly, to the many metal pieces in the room.

I quickly turned around.

I couldn't let Christopher see this. There was too much blood. He'd pass out for sure. Contaminate the crime scene.

"Go outside and wait for me."

He was so close behind me he almost smashed into my chest.

"Why? I want to help."

He tried to push me back, but my strength was greater. I placed my hands on his chest and looked down at him. Speaking in a low, serious tone, "Now Christopher."

I'm sure my glaring eyes was making him a bit frightful of what could be on the other side so he backed away unwillingly. I watched him disappear down the stairs then returned back the slaughter before me.

"Joshua Price, 21. Currently unemployed. Used to be a computer repairman." Lestrade spoke.

Male, 21, unemployed. Overweight about sixty pounds. Yellow fingernails means he was a smoker. Flaky red skin and face high blood pressure. Antisocial. Smoothness of hands indicate a compulsive masturbater. A blood meter machine sitting on the couch he was diabetic. Single, and living alone. No pets, no close family.

I walked cautiously around the body. Noticing the broken sternum, peeled opened chest and the sloppy cuts yet, perfectly planned. Damn, this was exactly it.

I studied it a bit longer.

"Well...?" Lestrade said breaking the silence.

"It's the same, yes. But as far a connection concerning the victims themselves, no. There is no way a unemployed gamer knew Tanner, the personal trainer. This guy looks like he's never seen a gym in his entire life. The only thing that connects the two, now three bodies is their gender, age ...and the person who killed them."

"All the blood though? The murderer put emotion into this. They hunted them." He pointed out.

"I'm no blood splatter expert but i see no emotion. I see display."

"How?"

"The cuts are sloppy. More like sawed down." I showed him the jagged ends. "Serial killers are targeters. Yes. They just like to pick, prey and enjoy their killings. Making everything precise. But sadly, these victims are categorized and chosen at random. There is no sign of forced entry. The victims let them in, trusting them that much so they must appear like the normal human. Opposing no threat. Once inside they attacked. Knowing police would be called, (not knowing when) why not give them something to look at?"

"And the missing hearts?" He sighed.

"Souvenirs. Everyone likes souvenirs."

"What would they done with them?"

"Keep them. Sell them on black market. By the way you would check on that," I breathed, "I couldn't say they are eating them. This guy's heart probably weighs more than his brain. If this person hadn't killed them their health would have."

Lestrade shivered at the sound of that.

"Do you have the timeline?" He said looking at me.

"Time line?"

"Yes. Normally Sherlock has the sequence of events in order."

I stood up straight, making my height eat his ego up. Slowly, I walked over to Lestrade with a mindful look on my face. My shaded eyes locked on his. I hated being compared to him out loud.

"I am not Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade."

I pushed past him, the smell of coffee and after shave staining my nose. I wasn't going to be compared to a solventless prick. I knew i was only a second option and never would have been an option if the bodies were coming to my morgue. However, i wasn't going to sit and listen to how much i'm expected to be like Sherlock. Doing his job.

"I want the body in my morgue by tonight. I'll look farther into it. I'll let you know if i find anything. And i don't have a timeline but by the smell of it the body is at least twelve hours old. Rigor Mortis is starting to set in. But that's pretty given Detective Lestrade. They are chosen by a randomized category, at random times in a random order. Natural sectional you could call it." I smiled at the entertaining thought.

"It was already ordered to go to your morgue Mr. Adler."

"Great!" I flashed my hand at him.

I found myself outside, back into the sunlight. Scanning around for Christopher. But instead watched people's face shift towards me. Staring deeply at me. Among the crowd i found Christopher. He was talking to Detective Donovan. Trying to play his not yet given role.

When he saw me making my way toward the cab he caught up with me. Showing a hopeful look on his face.

"What'd you find?"

"Ask Detective Lestrade. I don't feel like repeating myself."

Strolling past the judgmental uniformed humans i could feel their stares pierce my body. They weren't expecting someone like me to be involved in something as gruesome as this. Where was the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? Instead you had antisocial morgue guy from down the street and Christopher Watson. Detective in training. I wanted to show them i am not my father's child. As for Christopher, well he was stuck on his father path. He was doing a perfect job acting like him.

I waited in the cab for Christopher. This was too much social interaction for me. Too many stupid people in one place.

I heard the cab door open and Christopher get in.

"Oh my god! You did fan-fucking-tastic!" He smiled big at me.

"I wanna go home."

He looked at me for a moment. Confused, lost and puzzled at me uncheerful words then ordered the cab to take us home.

No one said anything. Maybe there was nothing to be said. I was just incriminated by a black women. Compared to a mad man. And had my intelligence shown but insulted. I hate people, God.

"...Why is Sherlock suspended?" I asked still looking out the window. Breaking the silence.

"Sorry?"

I wasn't going to repeat myself.

"Uhh, well i'm not sure but a couple weeks ago Lestrade and Sherlock got into an argument. I mean, they fight a lot but this one was almost physical."

"Why?"

"...I'm not sure. Sherlock came in as usual and i guess for some reason that day Lestrade wasn't hearing it. They started barking at each other about their attitudes. Then it escalated to Lestrade bringing up Sherlock's drug use and then Sherlock throwing Greg's divorce in his face. Then he just kicked Sherlock out." He snorted, "After that you should have seen Lestrade. He tried to punch a wall, let just say the wall did more damage to him than he did to the wall."

People have limits Sherlock.

For some unknown reason Christopher wanted to watch the afternoon news. I was never interested in telly so i sat on the couch and concentrated on the case at hand. Three bodies in the past six months, all at random times. No repeating action besides the blood, incision and stolen hearts. All were male and twenty-one. Could they be looking a woman? They would have fought back if it was a male. But why is she killing them? Why the same age?

A news anchor's voice began to fade in.

"Good evening. I'm Sophie Raworth with your six o'clock news. Break news in central London today. A twenty-one year old man was found dead in his home this morning by his neighbor. Police have recently discovered two other murders have occurred quite similar to this one today could be connected. Richard Andrews and Tanner Laten were the same age as the victim today. What's odd? The hearts of the victims are missing! All of this happening within a six month period. This had police baffled as where to start. So who do they call? The famous Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watsons? No! It appeared that neither of the two men were present at the scene today. Instead, cameras caught John Watson's only son Christopher Watson nearby. We were told a man dressed all in black accompanied him. Reporters soon found of that this man, happened to be the owner of Adler's Mortuary. The morgue based out of his own home. The Mr. Adler himself. Sadly, cameras did not catch him on film or picture imaging. But we can confirm that he was present. So with that being said where was Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson? Could Mr. Adler and young Mr. Watson be the next superheros in crime? They both have some pretty tall expectations to live up too and both being so young it looks like we'll be seeing more from them to come as we unravel the motive of these crimes. In other news, Family dies in house fire. Details after this..."

I turned off the TV. Christopher seemed to be barely paying attention anyways. Reading through the documents that were due tomorrow afternoon.

I was tired of hearing about Sherlock in comparison to me. Christopher and i wasn't going to be the big new detectives in London. As far as i was concerned i had to planned to stay home and enjoy my career. I didn't want involved in this massacre but since each body was signed to go my morgue it obviously meant something. It could be just some ironic ordeal but i had a feeling that said otherwise. This was now a government included cases. I'm not experienced enough or licensed to touch the bodies. Something wasn't adding up.

"The fuck is this!?" Christopher screamed breaking my thought process, "Page 60, "when second form of payment is in transaction you are not responsible for any bodily harm whatsoever?" and this, "Any sexual transmitted diseases during sexual intercourse you are also not accountable for." or this, page 73 "all, if any foreign objects penetrated in me is admissible." What the fuck!"

"It's part of the agreement." I sighed.

"What? No! What foreign objects would be inside me Roman?!"

"Come here and i'll show you."

I could tell it was hard for him to keep a serious face.

"Sexuality transmitted diseases? Do you have any?" He questioned.

"Do you?"

"No!"

"Then there's your answer."

"You're terrible."

…

Friday. Pay day. It's been a couple weeks Christopher's been working for me. He lacked in areas of sanitation and being able to handle full autopsies. He couldn't hand me the right tool in time that i needed it nor could he handle proper phone calls. Okay, maybe he wasn't meant for this job but i'd be sure that he could. My addiction depended on it.

But today was pay day. Of course, I gave Christopher his traditional form of payment. Cash. He fought me first to take the money. He said he enjoyed the job and felt bad for taking my money, acting as if i needed it. Come one, being a mortician making over twenty dollars an hour only put me at middle class standard but with my rather lump sum of inheritance that i barely put a dent in i'm sure i could manage.

His second form of payment was going to be my honestly my favorite. I knew it. With each payment the smut would get better and better. I had so many tricks up my sleeve and ideas i wanted to try. From the time i knew i was addicted to this very day i took time to write out my fantasies. Keeping them somewhere safe of course. However, with him i wanted to go slow. I was going to ruin Christopher Watson but steadily.

Clothes of various size and color were trailing the bottom of the stares clear to the entrance of a bedroom choose at random. The door was shut and all that was to be heard on the other side was heavy breathing and surprised gasped. Coming from Christopher, no other.

I watched his size shrink greatly into the massive length of the mattress. He was so small, hardly taking up any matter in this large room but the lovely sounds dripping out of him filled the four walls clear to the top. God he was beautiful.

I already had him prepared. Three fingers in and he was practically crying for me. He grabbed the ends a pillow and squeezed it with all the strength he had while i positioned myself in him. Once i was fully seated, and he adjusted i began. I was hovering over him, missionary. I had a front row ticket to watch the amazing Christopher Watson squirm under me. Moaning thunderous as i thrusted inside him. Damn.

Watching him cry and groan i thrusted harder. His face bright right, mouth open struggling to break. Panting. There was no need to choke him, my pounding thrust were slowing his airway movement.

I dipped down to take a bite out his neck. Unforgettably, he let out a rather loud gasp stripping his hands through my hair pulling it. Rolling my hips faster, harder, i could feel his cock rubbing against my stomach, leaking pre-cum uncontrollably.

He started to utter words.

"I...i...want.." He moaned louder as i slammed into him, "I want you to...meet..my..ahh my dad."

At first my brain did not process his words correctly. Hearing something like, ...well not that. But once it fully understood what he said i stopped moved completely.

"What?" I asked with my heart pounding in my ears, sweating, and frankly wrapped around in this addictive feeling.

"No no no," He grabbed my hips, pushing me into him, "Don't stop."

"What'd you say?"

"Roman… please."

My concentration was gone. But i did my best to move slow, staring at him confused and annoyed.

"I said... i want you to meet my dad. Faster." He bucked up against my sluggish trust.

"When?"

"What time is it?"

I looked at my watch setting on the nightstand next to the bed, "6:39"

"Then twenty minutes."

My eyes widened and i stopped again. My heart was going to explode.

"What! You're just telling me this now?!"

Christopher finally opened his eyes to glare at me, "I forgot. It's not a big deal." He started to buck against my still cock. Digging his nails into my hips. "Roman Adler if you don't start fucking me again i'm gonna push you down and ride you."

I could help but smile at his thread-less dirty talk.

"You wouldn't dare."

He tried to put his words into action by attempting to push me back but i began to slam into him. Pushing him down into the mattress. His moans were flawless, loud and mind blowing. There was no need to have too much fun for one day.

Christopher didn't give me no more than twenty minutes to mentally, physically and emotionally prepare myself for this abrupt meeting of his father. Doctor John Watson. And meeting him wasn't half the problem. What if Sherlock was with him? Much like Christopher and i, when the times allowed it, they were always together. Let that come true and I'd be shot down instantly in my own home.

I always feared that. Sherlock unknowingly or maybe even cynically coming to my home just see me killed. Whether it be for applied reasons such as disappointment for the direction i decided to live my life, my existence itself, my mother, or how little i knew. Or jealously. People were basically handing me Sherlock's job. One of the main reasons why men murder is for territory. Sherlock owned the crime investigating world.

On the outside i look calm, patient and tranquil. Peacefully sitting in a chair, waiting. Hands pressed to my lips, legs folded. Eyes fixed on my thoughts. Laying out in front of me. Mixing thoughts of this case, Christopher and how i could get out of this situation.

Casual, very casual. I was casual.

But on the inside? A utter train-wreck. My head was throbbing. Pounding pain on my frontal lobe. So many thought rushing at the front of my brain. It was a complete overload. I was remembering my last moments of life. Writing a mental will for myself. I wasn't scared to die, no. Every day i woke up i faced a million ways to die. Escaping death more times than the bodies in my morgue, of course. Looking at them, i envied. Their time was up and here i was carving them open while they rested on the other side.

God, i wanted to be pissed at Christopher. I wanted to choke him until he turned purple, scream at him until he busted down into tears, knock him unconscious and have him wake up naked in the middle of London.

He invited people to my house without permission. If i live, i'll punish him later. If i die, that will be punishment enough. Terrible, i know.

"If you keep staring at that table it's going to break." Christopher sat down in front of me. On the table i was staring at. "I know you're mad about my dad coming over but it honestly was last minute."

I huffed, "It's a bit disturbing you think about your dad while we "shag" as you American people call it."

He lightly kicked my foot, letting out a short laugh, "I was trying not to cum so fast."

"Maybe i'll try that next time. Instead of thinking about the beauty of Quantum physics."

Christopher began to laugh. I loved his laugh, it was a appealing sound.

God Christopher was different. His ability to talk so open about our earlier activities made me curiosity to hear more. It was very interesting. I'm sure he thought we were alone but with my staff that couldn't be true. Privacy was something i gave up long ago.

Suddenly a strong knock at the door stopped everything but my heart. It began to speed up dramatically as i could feel it thump in the back of my throat. The tips of my fingers ran cold like i cut the circulation off them.

"They're here." He said walking to the door, doing a quick turn i noticed as i stood up with shaky legs. "Try and behave."

I give him a sarcastic smirk.

I remained a couple feet back. Keeping my distance from the door just in case Sherlock was with John. I could sneak away to my morgue and stay there until they left. It seemed like a visible plan when i ran it through my mind.

"Dad, this is Mr. Adler. Mum you've already met him." Christopher directed a hand towards me

Unexpectedly his mother appeared first. Looking nothing like the first time i met her. Her youth was restored. Hair carefully curled on her head. Makeup that made her eyes popped from the complementary colors of her mint green dress. She reminded me something from the 1920's. Sweet with a hint of spice. From the half smile on her face i could see the hidden spunk she often kept a secret.

The came John. The Doctor John Watson. To sum him up and a sentence is; he was still shorter than me, and unchanged. He looked exactly the same as the pictures i saw expect maybe a couple more wrinkles and grayer hair, but nothing dramatic. Unlike the pictures i saw his ore, a stone blue. I couldn't call it gray nor blue. Something between, stone blue.

Mary just gave a faint, sweet smile. Her beautiful blue eyes flashing at me i couldn't help but return a smile back.

On the outside, calm. Inside, a war. My introduction with John counted.

Only because i couldn't blind it out i noticed when all three of them stood together a right yellow ore ripped away from them. They were related because of their ore's.

"John Watson." He held his hand out.

For a moment i just stared at it, unsure of what he was doing. But remembering i was part of humankind it meant a handshake was about to transpire. I shook it with much firmness i could manage without hurting one of us.

"This is a lovely home you have Mr. Adler." Marry said in awe.

"Thank you. I've had a lot of it upgraded since i first moved in."

"How long you been in practice?" John asked looking keen, also changing the subject..

"About six months now."

He nods walking away from me. More interested in the house than me. Gazing at my expensive black leather couch and imported from Rome wall paper. The large piano that sat in the corner untouched since i placed it there. He seemed to study everything in sight with much concern.

"Uhh... these murdered that's been going on. Their hearts missing, huh? Why did Lestrade appoint you the case?" John questioned not looking at me.

"I assume it's because of my popularity with the media."

"It's not because the bodies have been basically showing up on your doorstep?"

I put my hands behind my back, "Dr. Watson, causation does not imply correlation. You are aware of that... correct?"

He glared at me, licks his lips doing the same damn positional shift as Christopher did. "...Right. Well. What correlations have you found Mr. Adler?"

I tilted my head a bit, thinking.

"It's being ruled out as a serial killing. Three victims since June. All male's, twenty-one, ranging occupation and categorized but chosen at random."

"How do you know it's random?" John asked.

"It's the same causation/correlation idea. What connection does a Tanner Laten have to a Joshua Price? One a personal trainer and the other a overweight video gamer. She, the killer doesn't care what they do just as long as they are male and within her age range. "

"She?" Christopher and John almost said simultaneously.

"It's only a theory right now but i'm assuming it's female." I put my hands up at both of them, "I have little evidence to show that theory without it being sexist or condescending."

"What evidence do you have?"

"The female body is actually more hormonally and chemically filled or wired than a man's. That's why they are hard to classical condition," I snorted, "Anyways, they act based of emotions, instinct and survival. Some believe the heart is the key function of a woman. Solemnly because it has the connection to the soul. On the other hand, man, we tend to think with learn behaviors and sexual drives. Some see the heart as the brain for a female and the penis as the male brain. What reason would a male have to kill without a personal gain? A girl, money, territorial or dominance. And by the looks of these victims there was not much to envy. All were single, two out three self employed. None of the victims were sexually abused in anyway. Women kill for all kind of reasons, person gain, safety, fear, and emotion. The way these bodies were killed is because of age and gender, that's poor cuts are dumbfounding, but the missing heart? This killer must find the heart of value to them rather than their owners. But what i find interesting is women tend to kill people who are close to them. None of these victims are connected nor have a common female friend. But keeping the female theory we could be looking for a woman around her twenties or older. Someone who has had experience behind a knife. A lesbian maybe? Punishing men for hurting her? I don't know i'm still checking. "

Everyone in the room was staring at me. Eyes wide, mouths flopped open, ears like vacuum cleaners. When i looked over at Christopher he and Mary both were smiling ear to ear.

"...Plus none of them fought back. Men feel morally obligated not hit a female." I hesitated to add as they all stared at me.

"Have they found a murder weapon?" The doctor crossed his arms.

"No. It'd have to be a knife of some sort and as far as to literally rip the heart from the body...no. There's no fingerprints, no medal chips and no DNA."

John just nodded. Looking away from me at Christopher and Mary.

"I told you he was good." Christopher said with a smile.

"If this get too dangerous i want Christopher off the case."

"What? Dad that's not fair. I need this kind of..."

He cut Christopher off, "I don't care. I'm not having your life put in danger." He sighed, "If that tosser Lestrade would stop being so hardheaded this case would have been solved last month."

"Mr. Adler and i can solve this. Just gotta give us time."

"I'm sure."

The silence was real. Thick as walls. I felt obligated to say something again when Christopher looked at me helpless and a bit hurt but nothing was coming to mind. Dammit.

"Well Mr. Adler. It was nice to meet you. Good luck this case. If you need any help don't hesitate to call Sherlock Holmes are i. He'll be more than happy to assist you." John placed his hand around Mary's back, "We'll be leaving now."

"Thank you Doctor." I forced a smile.

I walked them to the door carrying light conversations about the weather and my home. Mary was awfully fond of it. Then saying polite goodbyes i watched the door clear them out as it shut slowly.

Once that door shut completely and i knew no one was going to come back through it. I stumbled back until my feet hit the edge of the steps on the stairs and i collapse. Sitting there holding my head in my hands breathing like i ran a mile. Them leaving lifted a vast weight off my shoulders. It was bad enough Christopher spends so much time with me. Everyday was like playing Russian Roulette with a empty gun Now his father aware of me? Put a bullet in the gun and let's play.

Thank god Sherlock wasn't with him. I wouldn't be able to maintain my sanity for a minute if he walked through those doors. My skin would melt to nothing and my breathing self would depart from reality. I couldn't, no way. Fuck.

Sherlock Holmes is the far from the last man i want to see before i die.

Suddenly i heard my front door open again. Creaking with the pace it unlatched.

My head shot up panicked, eyes blur from the pressure of my hands. My stomached flipped about three no four times before i could focus on who it was.

Christopher.

"I forgot my coat." He said rushed over to the stairs to me.

I watched his strutting size enlarge the closer he got to me. Trying his back to hold his innocent smile. My brows cured at his movement.

One he was basically on top of me, between my legs he leaned down to my level and placed a stuttered kiss on my silent lips. More of a peck.

"I'm sorry, again." He said looking at me, smiling like a berk, "See you Monday."

And just like before he was out the door. Heading home to the family life i would never have.

My cheeks flushed as i could feel a smile cover my face.

God, i was going to kill him.

-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~SHERLOCK WILL BE APPEARING IN CHAPTER 21. I REPEAT ROMAN WILL BE MEETING SHERLOCK NEXT CHAPTER~~~
> 
> Blood pumping? Mind going crazy yet? 'Cause mine is! I'm so excited guys! But anyways did you like this chapter? Shits getting crazy! How did i do? Let me know Review, follow, favorite you know! Christopher is soo cute! ^.^ How 'bout that John though? Haha. Roman's deduction skills ._. Bro. Next Monday ya'll! Chapter 21: The Father and The Uncle. Should i just leave it at that? Let you go crazy over what is going to happen? o.o Well i'll say this: Honestly things have been falling apart from the moment Christopher came back AND NOW SHIT'S ABOUT TO HIT THE FAN.
> 
> I'm sorry for errors i'm super tired and have a bleeding headache.
> 
> Some news: I have recently started writing a side project that is a weak crossover with Sherlock and Hannibal. Also, it does have some connection to this story. I will update according to its popularity so if it sounds interesting to you go check it out please! It's called Psychoanalyze My Deductions. The summary is: James Moriarty has had a son. And now that Sherlock Holmes is horribly aware of his succession he must go undercover as a therapist to infiltrate the possible future of this rising star. But it won't be all fun and games when Jim's son already has a wonderful therapist named Hannibal Lector who is dammed to see him thrive into the next generation of criminals. James's son POV. So please go check that out! ^.^
> 
> Also: There won't be some smut again in this story for a little so if you wanna read some other smut i've wrote go check out The Only Man I'd Ever Love. It's Johnlock. I should have you updated by the end of this week!
> 
> A new note. I'm a shitty writer .-. i'm sorry for my errors guys. I edit by myself cuz i have no friends. But be looking at this story to be 40 to 45 chapters long so stick it in for the long haul okay? Love you xoxoxoxo


	21. The Father and The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: O.O Here people don't kill me! I'm sorry i didn't update Monday, i've been super busy and going through a lot mentally. I was just going quite this story. I feel people don't like it..., i understand. But i've decided to continue! (Mainly cause of a fan, you know who you are ^^) You're welcome. Sorry for the wait. ANYWAYS PREPARE for the shitting of your life time (jk) but SHITS ABOUT TO GO DOWN. Roman and Christopher start fighting over Roman's unknown past, oh my! We have another murder! Who could it be? And YES IT'S FINALLY HERE Roman meets Sherlock, please be sure to be sitting, not eating and be alone when you read. I apologize ahead of time ._. ... And the Uncle? You know who the uncle is... could this chapter be Roman's last?! He broke Mycroft rule. Enjoy...

Chapter 21: The Father and The Uncle.

"A man's desire for a son is usually nothing but the wish to duplicate himself in order that such a remarkable pattern may not be lost to the world."

Helen Rowland -

It was starting to snow. The first snowfall of the winter season. I use to hate snow during my time at University, now, i loved it. It's not like i had anywhere to go anymore. I could just stare out my window and watch it fall. A cold, unique white blanket dancing from the sky to cover the world of it's color. Drowning out every emotion. Sometimes, i wondered if inside me was there a white blanket of snow. Shielding me of everything. I was completely blinded. My body harvest the fours seasons like Mother Earth. Summer, in reality i hated hot weather, but my endorphins and dopamine releases resembled the steamy days of summer. Fall, because i always felt something was slowing dying in me and as winter came and the snow fell a new person was born. Innocence. The end of a year and the start of something new. Now spring, was the pure blooming of this new individual living inside me. Ready to start the cycle again.

Christopher Watson had been working as an assistant for me for only a short about of time, doing basic jobs. Cleaning, writing and communicating also keeping me company and feeding my addiction once a week for my liking. I gave him job experience, money for college and pleasure, while he gave me comfort and release. Honestly i felt i got more out of it than him. Nevertheless, Christopher was a fascinating human. His self appearance was blatant, divergent and captivity. His smile, perfect. His humor ...manageable. My favorite side to see was behind closed doors. Giving it up to me so easily yet maintaining his staged innocence. Moaning from everything inside him. His voice was a beautiful tune. Gasping, panting, pacing, crying. Begging for it. Damn.

I looked at my watch. 12:27pm.

He's late.

My schedule for today was to perform a classical embalming followed up with a good ol' cremation. Not much work to be done today, but that did not mean Christopher was excused for showing up late for work.

My basement swung door open, and Christopher rushing in removed his coat covered in a light sheet of snow. The sounds of his lungs i could tell it was rather cold outside.

"You're late." I said filling out a death certificate.

"I know. I had to make up an exam."

"Not an excuse."

"I'm sorry, sir."

I glanced up as he flicked a playful smile at me.

"I need you to get my equipment ready and sweep the floor." I waved my pen at the floor speaking

.

Again, it was going to be a slow day. I could finish everything that needed to be done within two hours, only making it be a bit after three. A couple hours to spare. Maybe Christopher and i could kill the time. Reviewing details about the cases or just 'hang out'.

"It will be a simple day. Probably finish by three. You wanna hang around here afterwards?" I hinted without actually asking.

He began to sweep, slowing. Thinking about my request, "Why don't we go out. Oh like go to that new Chinese place on Shaftesbury!"

I sighed, "I can just have Chinese made here. Same thing."

He laughed, "No it's not. You like to stay inside so much. No wonder you're white as a ghost."

"I have no reason to go outside."

"I'd be scared if you didn't wear black i'd lose you in the snow." He sniggered.

"Ha. Ha. Funny."

He began to laugh to himself, "It's very funny."

The seriousness of the workforce came back after a couple minutes. I continued to fill out proper paper work while Christopher began to prepare my equipment. Only for a second I watched him. Suddenly as if he remembered something he rather not his body language changed. His movements slowed down, his heart was slowly speeding up and he looked to be in quite compelmenton on whether or not to say what he wanted to.

"Roman… who's Tr...Trevor Gallagher?" He hesitated not looking at me.

Just hearing Christopher utter the beginning syllables of his name my heart felt like it dropped. My muscles locked up, the thumping of heart in my ear and nerves taking over my body. It's been almost two years and i still couldn't get the memories of him out of my head.

I couldn't tell in what direction Christopher was coming from i decided to play it off normal, "...Why do you ask?"

"A lot of people know i work for you now. It's kinda hard to hide even if i wanted to. But I just happen to overhear your name and his tossed around. So who was he?"

I flicked my pen between my sweating fingers studying him.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"You used past tenses, "who was he"."

"Yeah. Because he's ...dead." His voice hesitated but still, he turned around to me nervously.

"Exactly. So it doesn't matter."

"Yes it..."

I cut him off, "No it doesn't. Drop it."

He licked his lips, looking down then up to me. "Well the things i heard weren't ...good. So i wanna know, I deserve to know!"

Rolling my eyes i let out a big sigh, "What did i just say? Drop it, Christopher."

Somewhere deep inside me i could feel my temper was starting to rise. Fire growing, roaring, burning. Trevor Gallagher was dead and that's how i wanted to it to stay. Still I was forced to endure during his existence and after it was a painful remembrance. I saw him as my best friend and my fadal hero. Having Christopher throw it in my face, questioning me like some suspect wasn't going to happen.

"...How'd he died?"

I slammed down my pen and stood up, lining myself up with him. Body temperatures and heart rates speeding up. Racing each other on who could be the quickest.

"If speak one more words about him i'll..." My mind froze up, if i continued i was going to say something we'd both regret.

"Oh really?" He shook his head, "What are you doing to do?"

I went to throw some words out before my phone began to vibrate. I ignored it for a moment but the buzzing just deafening, rumbling over my demanding insults and fast heart.

I answered it, "WHAT?!"

"Mr. Adler? It's Detective Inspector Lestrade. We have another one and i'd like for you to come down to the scene and have a look."

Paused for a minute, then sighed deeply release some of the bottled anger.

"You people are fucking hopeless."

"Is that a yes?"

"Barely."

I hung up and dismissed myself from Christopher. Putting our previous conflict aside.

"Where are you going?" Christopher asked his eye following me.

I put on my lab coat. Not responding him for i knew if i spoke one word to him… Oh lord. Trevor Gallagher was dead, the end.

After popping a couple nerve pills I pulled on my sunglasses, sinking myself deep in the cab seat. It was my way of hiding my identity from any possible reporters, potential threats and protecting my eyes. On the other side, I liked the idea of being a Mortician that no one knew the identity of. Sadly, the older i got the more i was looking like Sherlock. I could not risk myself so carelessly. That's why i hardly went out in public, people stared at me. Questioning what they were seeing.

When we arrived and i climbed out of the car the first thing i could just barely notice was Christopher's father. John Watson. He was in handcuffs, shouting at someone in a uniform. But all the same he disappeared before i could see where he went.

"God dammit!" Christopher said loudly, ushering over to his father.

I was left alone, standing there probably looking out of place. Of course if wasn't long before Lestrade waved for my attention over to him. His face was bright red his ore was flickering like a dying flashlight with anger.

"Took you fucking long enough! John and Sherlock showed up trying to run the bloody show!"

"How'd that go?" I smirked at him.

"John fucking punched Anderson and Sherlock just disappeared! What part of suspension do they not fucking understand?" He began to curse to himself. Hands on his hips, shaking his head with disappointment.

"Back to the problem at hand, Greg."

"Right," he said defeated, "Follow me."

Once we went inside, crossing the first door it felt like an hour that we'd been walking. Opening, closing and passing many doors. The walls were cement gray and cold to the touch. If any one spoke a word it echoed all around. I couldn't help but smell the stench of death the closer we got. And upon discovering the body it was easy to tell one, i could have been days before someone found him. All the rooms look the same and two, it had been dead for over twelve hours.

The body of a white collar worker was lying on his back, chest and eyes open, blood draining from the mouth. The repeated sense.

Male, obviously 21 recently married? Maybe if you call three years. His wedding ring looks like it almost removed. No children, a small dog he kicks around a lot. Works out, not often. More of a runner. He's a banker? No, stereotypical English bankers don't wear tan slacks. Blue or black. Stock broker? What would he be going in a place like this?

"What am i looking for?"

"Clues. Anything." Lestrade said walking up by me.

"Do you even know the definition of a mortician?" I looked at him, "My job is find how and why people die. And i can tell you now the cause of death: Pretty fucking obvious. Okay, my job here is done. Good day Detective Lestrade."

I turned to leave.

"Just have a look."

"I'm not a forensics investigator. Tell them to get their lazy asses in here and do their jobs. Just like i'm trying to do. I have a cremation i have to finish by five."

"Mr. Adler i know you can find something they can't."

I shifted myself back to him. Putting my finger in his face, "I'm going to tell you one last time, I'm not Sherlock fucking Holmes. I'm a simple mortician. If you want a consulting detective then you better be crawling back to the only one in existence. I will not be his replacement. Do you understand?"

"...Just have a look Mr. Adler." He said in a low voice.

"I may have to join the Doctor Watson in the police car first."

"Markus Gladstone, of course 21 years old. He's a worker for the London stock market. He left for work around eight in the morning and never made it home last night. He should have been home around six. Conduction men that were working on this building found him this morning."

"I have this theory...," I said shy, "of the killer being a female. This should be my final evidences to not make it a theory anymore but a very small target. But he's obviously not a faithful man. To follow a strange women so deep into a building under construction? Now that on a normal level don't sound right."

"Maybe she'/he forced him."

"He didn't fight back, none of them did. None of them put off the smell of fear. Yes it had a smell, it's in their sweat. She gained their trust. She presents herself based off of first impressions. For Markus it had to be something appealing. Just look at his finger, his wedding ring isn't fully on and it's not because it doesn't fit. He tried to remove it. In his head, following her meant he was going to get lucky."

"How are we going to catch her?" He ran a hand through his snow styled hair.

"Look for footprints, check camera outside the building. I don't know that's your job."

"Time line?" It was already out of his mouth before he could take it back, "I'm sorry. "

"You said he left at eight this morning right? That couldn't be right. I'd say sound nine. Ask the wife. Already being late for work he was in too much in a rush to walk so he grabbed a cab since it was the quickest way to work. He must have spilt his coffee in the cab. Just by the looks of the guy he was a having a bad day even before he died. When it was time go, which he was dreading. Maybe him and the wife were fighting? Ask her. The killer and i both knew Markus was going to go to the bar so that's when she approached him. Making him an offer he couldn't refuse." I quickly scanned the body again, "So you could be looking for a prostitute, even though it doesn't sound right. But it's possible. The only difference with this one from the rest is this wasn't performed at home. Instead she decided to mix it up. Check his sperm count, silvia, look for DNA. blood pressure before death, and i don't mean on his arm. You can find out if sexual foreplay is involved."

He put his head down and shook it, sighing with disappointment, "We need a lead. A suspect. Something! Families are terrified."

"Well, know that i think about it, the Y incision and removal of the heart insists it's could be someone of medical background. A doctor, surgeon, someone in training." I pulsed, "a mortician who's bored of the death seen. That sounds more believable and realistic than a whore."

"What are you saying?"

Silence. I said nothing

It was strange that each one of the body was already predestined to go to my morgue. A bit unnerving. Was someone trying to tell me something. Show me something? Threaten me? Last i checked i had no eminamies. But still, what perplexed me was this was now federal case. I'm not experienced enough to be handing these bodies and this case anymore. It looks like i need to be checking on the paper work. Somebody wanted me involved in this. Whether i wanted to or not i was going to have to play detective.

"A woman. Be looking for a woman." I said not paying attention, "I'll be going then."

"Thanks for coming."

I didn't want it to look like i was rushing out but i was. The walls were beginning to close in and my mind was blacking out. Pain. None of this made since. I didn't know these men, frankly, i've never seen them in my life. Who could it be?

Four victims in a short period of time. All male, twenty-one, no connections to each other, chosen at random and killed at random times. All random. The only thing that was consistent was the way of death, age and gender. This killer was good making sure she wouldn't get caught. Leaving nothing behind. So the victims may have been targeted at random but the act itself was very planned. She knew who she was killing, random men. What she was killing, humans. When she was killing, (at anytime she wanted and where ever she wanted) why, I don't know. I have yet to figure that out. And how, a knife, scalpel anything related. Ripping the hearts straight out of their chest.

This was a game to her. Cat and mouse, cops and robbers, Clue.

She's good.

I must have taken a wrong turn or something. Because when i opened the door that i thought was the main exit i didn't see a large of people waiting to crowd around me. Wanting to know what mind-blowing decisions i've made this time. Instead, a grey brick wall was staring eagerly at me. Cracked brick road under my feet.

I glance to my left, nothing. Just another alley crossing at an intersection. To my right, flashing lights and police tape. In the distance i could see small people moving about so I knew i needed to go that way. I'd probably only taken a couple steps before my natural sway was throw off. I felt a jerking force be pulled back and pushed to the side. My head hit off the the old brick wall. Instantly dull electric pain shot up from my back to my head, shaking the inside of my skull.

My eyes were blotchy, seeing spots of black and white. I had no idea who or what grabbed me and before i knew it i felt a warm, rough, suffocating cover cup my mouth. A hand. Oh no. Panicking, unable to gain back my sight i struggled to pry the veil from my mouth. And of course, knowing it wouldn't making any audible words still, i decide to try and speak. Screaming anything.

A body firmly pressed against me. Paralyzing me. It was blazing with heat and hefty strength which only made it even harder to calm down and breathe. As my vision was starting to come back the sketch layout of a body was forming. Tall, dark colors and the smell of cigarettes and lemon tea was present. Then, a overcoat with an oddly familiar feeling pattern to it. Skin, pale lacking more color than usual. Who was it? My eyes began to follow up from the neck to the chin, strong. The lips, they were almost red, puffy breathing out thick grey smoke. High cheek bones. Once i was able to make it to the eyes couldn't help but notice how deeply concentrated they were on me. Also how blue they were, aqua with the pupils looking like a alarmed cat.

My brain was piecing all together now. This coat, the smell, the eyes and ...the rich dark navy blue ore.

Sherlock

It was now a clear picture. A puzzle put back together.

I knew exactly who this was.

I could feel my eyes widen, cracking from their sockets. My breathing dramatically accelerate, almost a wheezing as the rest of my body caught up. You could hear the smeared sound drift off his hand. My heart was smashing my in chest, breaking all my concentration. Adrenaline was kicking in. It honestly was a life or death situation. Someone was going to come up now, at any moment and pull a trigger. His man was Sherlock.

Oh, fuck.

A moment like this shouldn't be so frightening. Fearing for my life right now. I wanted my introduction with Sherlock to be calm, slow and open minded. Not fucking this, in a shrinking alley, scared shitless and counting my possible last trying to fight back.

He's pinned me against the wall looking at me with a greedy smile on his face, "You look awfully surprised to see me." His voice, just how i pictured. Deep, lacking emotion, very clamorous. Clever and mischievous.

I said nothing, i couldn't! I just continued to stare at him. Panting myself to death, dying to move my body. I was held in position by him and my own fear. I couldn't believe it.

"I don't care who you think you are but playing the new consulting detective during my suspension isn't a very good way to find yourself Mr. Adler. Which, by the way, isn't even your real last name. You're America for Christ sakes. Adler is a reserved English name. You just changed it as some rip off to The Women that use to reside in that place you call home. Also your work environment. What a waste of a beautiful home. You feed off the media just because they haven't any idea of what you look like. Now that's no fun. They can't see you're just an antisocial problematic mortician who spends his days cutting bodies open for pure enjoyment. I bet you do more than just perform autopsies."

Were my ear deceiving me? There was no way Sherlock just said that to me. His voice sounded very condescending.

"I can tell you one thing, you don't belong here. But i don't have to tell you something you don't already know. So stop wasting everyone's time with your shitty deduction and poor observation skills. I honestly don't comprehend what that brainless Lestrade sees in you. You're just slowing everything down! This murder cases could have been solved months ago if you hadn't intervened. Mr. Adler you have no idea what you are doing, you're another stupid amateur trying to play the new Sherlock Holmes. When there can only be one. My suggestion to you is to go home and i mean go back to where you came from and stay there so the rest of us can get back to doing our jobs."

Did he really think i wanted to be going this? Playing the role of somebody i'm not? I didn't ask to be here, fucking Christopher is the one who drug me here in the first place.

"Now i don't know what you're intentions are with Christopher Watson is but if it's to recreate some twisted fantasy you may have, you are far from reach." He paused, staring at me. A "ah-ha" expression began to form. "...Oh, that interesting. Does John know? It doesn't matter. I don't see it lasting for much longer."

I felt his grip on me loosen. His sweaty palm removed from my face. I could run away or scream if i wanted to. But we both knew i wouldn't. Instead i tragically looked around down both alleys and on top of the roofs. Nothing.

He looked around with me.

"John and i maybe getting older but i don't quite think we're ready for retirement. In the mean time you can just go back to your dying practice and stay away from this case. I'm quite flattered, really, that'd you go to all this trouble to try and be someone you and i both know you're clearly not. I will agree you look too much like me but you don't even have a quarter of the knowledge i hold inside. Can't even put a simple series of events in order. You have no idea what it will take to being the next Sherlock Holmes."

He swiftly reached forward and ripped the sunglasses from my face. It was too late before i tried to grab for them, "Quick lesson and do not speak. I don't wear sun shades ever." He threw them to the ground. Smashing to pieces. "The amount of black you wear is excessively self-incriminating. So lighten up. Now Lestrade might not be brighter than a street light but i know within time when you are unable to produce a suspect or real evidence they'll take matters into their own hands. Start pointing fingers. Blaming the very person who has intentionally drug this case out longer than necessary. And person will be you, Mr. Adler. A temper like a child mortician with more problems than math book. Human kind doesn't sit well with people like you. It's a harsh world out their, solemnly because the people inside it." He pulsed, looking away then back at me, "Even i find it a tad strange each victim's body has shown on your very doorstep but i'm not one to accuse without proper precaution. On the other hand, i can see the potential within you. And by potential i mean you're a very difficult person to deduct. Don't be to surprised, because if you make one suspicious move i'll have all of London PD at your door step. I think you'd be a very interesting case to read about. Tread lightly now."

Sherlock turned the direction of the alley away from the police. My eyes were fixed on every movement he was making. Suddenly, he stopped walking and turned away around to me. I threw myself back against the wall. My heart was starting to expedite again.

"And finally, the least you could do for God sakes is get the damn overcoat right! I find it a bit insulting. Have a good day Mr. Adler."

I took a quick glance to the crime scene. The police lights were still flashing. Thank God. And the back to where Sherlock was moving. He was gone, not in sight. He was gone. Just like that he walked away from me so easily. Not even second guessing everything he said to me, or who i was. His son.

A great sigh of relief came over me with all oxygen left my body. My legs gave out from under me, i sled down the sharp brick wall feeling my body thing. What the fuck just happened? I can tell you what just happened. Sherlock Holmes just threatened me, broke down my mental and social status all while completely oblivious of my existence. How could man such as himself do such a thing?

Sherlock Holmes was exactly what i expected. In human i mean. His voice, smell, everything. But his words? I could only dream of such scrutiny.

Fuck, fuck. I needed to go home. The realization of the situation was sinking in. I had to get out of here before i get killed. Shakingly i pulled myself from the ground. Keeping one hand on the wall to hold me just in case my legs gave out again. Shifting my eyes all around panicked Where is the threat Mycroft spoke of?

Returning the crime scene everyone was starting to pack up. The sound of the sirens hushed as they drove away. Rapidly, I headed for the cab waiting for me and Christopher to go home. I just happened to get a glance at Christopher who was talking to Detective Lestrade. Our eye contact only last for a moment as i disappeared behind the doors of the waiting cab. Then I sunk deep into the seat, hiding myself from the world. Whipped trickling snow from my hair. I could not speak of what happened to anyone.

A minute later i heard Christopher walked around on the other side and get in, "Where'd you go?" He asked.

I didn't answer. I felt more than compelled to answer. I couldn't uttered a word about my harassment with Sherlock and that's all that was on my mind.

Christopher could tell i wasn't in the mood to speak but the way he was sitting, almost facing me he was in the mood not only to talk but argue. His posture was straight up, his fingers twitched and he licked his lips over and over again.

"Are you going to tell me about Trevor Gallagher now?"

"Nope."

His eyes were locked on me. Looking at me with confusion and slightly cross, "...Were you two ...dating?" He stuttered.

I threw my head to the side, glaring at him, "No."

"Why is it so hard for you to talk about him? I don't understand."

I said nothing.

"...Did you..." He pulsed.

I sat up more, facing my body to him, "Did i what? What Christopher?" I could feel the oppressed angry from Sherlock's words and his endless integration build, "Did i kill him? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Not so broadly…. but yes."

"...Stop the cab!" I screamed.

Everything was at sudden halt, with the inertia was terminated as well. The tension i was putting off from my raising explosion of pure pissed was making the internal temperature rise in the small cab. Fogging the window and making my breathing race.

I sat up, leaning in towards Christopher, pointing my finger at him. I keeping my voice low, but ever so threatening. "You fucking listen here Christopher Watson i did not murder Trevor Gallagher and for you even THINK such a thing is very insulting. Trevor died of an accidental overdose of Fentanyl spiked Heroin. How i know that is because i'm the one who fucking had to do the damn autopsy! So before you go around placing piss poor judgement try doing some research. Trevor was my friend….my best friend," I ripped opened the cab door. "And cutting him up wasn't something i found to be relaxing."

"Where are you going?!" Christopher called to me.

"Home!"

"Roman!"

But it was too late. I already shut the cab door and made my way down the street. Shaking the world under me with each foot step. Burning the snow.

My anger was starting to get out of control. A complete forest fire. So it was best i got away from Christopher. He didn't need to see me lash out. Right now though, i could snap his neck. How dare he pressure me over something so foolish like Trevor Gallagher. His death was his own fault and i sadly paid a price for associating myself with him. I was not going to stand for such treatment. Fuck! I had Christopher prying into my life like he had a right to know. He was just a damn employee i paid special attention to. Nothing more. So fucking what he was John Watson's son, he was no better than me. Just a piece of shit trying to magically turn into someone better. Gold. Then Sherlock, my father. The man i hated for putting my existence into this world, i finally get to meet and it was nothing how i expected. He restricted me, threatened me, insulted me and made my ego crash like a plane. No survivors.

Why am i seen as a monster to everyone?

…

Once i walked through the doors of my home, or as to Sherlock, the basic rip off of my mother, i made it pretty clear to anyone in the house my swelling anger was present. Slamming my front door harder than necessary and manhandling my lab coat to the rack. Mumbling curse words under my breath.

I headed to the right for the stares. Calm down, calm down. My breathing itself was already grappled. I couldn't handle this. This was too much. As i went to take the first step i could feel the presence of a ore in my home. A silver ore glowing. Giving me goosebumps. Destroying every intention in my mind and body.

I grind my teeth together, "Mycroft."

I spun around to him, military style. Clapping my feed together. Once my eyes found him i noticed he was sitting ever so quant on the couch sipping on my whine. Legs folded over each others, a cheat smile on his stupid face, "What's the matter Mr. Adler? You nearly torn your front door off." He swirled his drink around in the glass.

"What do you want?"

"Adalynn is getting her hair done so I figured i'd stop by. It's been awhile." His voice buzzing with enormity.

"Not long enough." I huffed.

He lightly sat his drink down on the table in front of him and stood. Placing his hands in his pricey tan suit pocket. Giving me a distant expression.

"It seems you've been getting pretty chummy with Christopher Watson." He took a couple steps towards me, "An assistant? Is he?"

I could feel my heart starting to beat a little faster. My mouth went surprisingly dry. It wasn't like i was trying to hide Christopher. I physically couldn't. Because of this case he and i, (mainly my name) were featured on the evening news. He was bound to find out. But it's almost been a year and he chooses now, so deep into the case and our partnership to confront me about it? Why now say something.

"You two even have your first case together. How sweet. It's a familiar scene, don't you think? How does John feel about it?" He held his head up high.

"He doesn't mind it."

Fuck! The words were already out of my mouth before i could take them back. Maybe i shouldn't have told him i've met John. I'm just going to make it worse. Then It hit me. He's here because Sherlock. Someone must have saw us. But it wasn't like I purposely went out of my way to meet him. I try and avoid him for Pete's sake. Sherlock found me and came to me. And now i was going to be killed for it. My heart was starting to hurt. These could be my last moments and i was spending them sulking over childish things like Christopher's questioning. If this was my last day i didn't want to have bad terms with Christopher. But i guess it was too late now. I couldn't say i was surprised for this moment to come. It was going to happen one day. I couldn't hide forever.

His eye shown a bit shocked . But his dull expression didn't change much, "Oh? So you've met John?"

"And Mary, that's it." My voice was weak. It was almost like i was begging. Pathetic.

He took a couple steps more to me, each one louder than the next. Unconscious i felt myself take a half step back.

"I see. Is Christopher aware of your ...situation?"

I shook my head, "No."

He looked around. Swaying his body, letting out a deep sigh.

"Good" He smiled but it quickly faded, "But! I'm sorry Mr. Adler i'm going to have to ask you to terminate your relationship with Christopher."

"What! Why?!" My vocals spiked in pitch.

"I think the reason is quite obvious." Mycroft glared at me from over his eyes, "I will not be held responsible if something happens to him."

"Nothing is going to."

"Mr. Adler, you still understand our previous deal concerning your father?" He reached, straightening out my shirt collar, "No need to put a pressure like that on Christopher."

Mentally i felt confused and relieved at the same time. He didn't know about Sherlock. He has yet to mention on it. Saving it for last? This just looks like it's about Christopher and i. Still, i didn't like it. There was no way i could discontinue my relationship with him.

Suddenly, it felt like i was just shot, stabbed or hit, everything was starting to close in. My eyes moved side to side and my lung began to scream for air. Mycroft's size was engulfing me, the walls shrunk greatly in height. Too many pigments of Mycroft silver ore around me. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were in denial.

He cocked his head to the side, "Alright? You look a little pale."

I continued to stare panicked at the floor. Trying to calm myself down but it only got worse to function. The thought of losing Christopher was painful but my throat was sore and my chest tight. When i went the first time without him i could barely take it. Now permanent? I can't. No. You don't understand!

I began to shake. A seizure like state. A panic attack was creeping itself onto me.

"Come." Mycroft placed a hand on my back and guided me to the couch, "Sit."

I fell into the couch, trying to relax my breathing but Mycroft's words were swarming my brain. Losing Christopher. The word echoing, pounding like drums in my ears.

"Taylor, please get Mr. Adler some water." Mycroft called.

He just watched me struggle to breathe. No emotion, no remorse, nothing. Just gawking down at me. Blankly. No empathy. Curious to see what happens if continue. Was i going to die? Oh God, no like this.

Butler Taylor handed the glass of water to Mycroft then he passed it down to me. I greedily took it from him and chugged it down. Once i was able to get my breathing undercontrol i sat up, pacing myself, "I… i won't stop interacting with Christopher." I said, trying to steady my voice.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and shifted his footing.

"You are by far the most selfish person i've ever met."

I looked up at him sharply.

Selfish - lacking consideration for others.

"It's always what you want. But yet you still never get what you want."

"Maybe if i did i wouldn't be." I argued.

"You honestly think keeping Christopher around is a good idea? Running the risk of him unknowingly ending your life. Do you really want to leave that responsibility on him?"

"I could just tell him."

Mycroft smugly laughed. Sarcastically smiling at me like i was slow, "And you think he'd believe you? Roman Adler the lonely mortician from America is actually the famous Sherlock Holmes offspring. Please."

I swallowed hard. He was right. God.

"If you truly care about him you'll heed my warning."

Care - feel concern or interest; attach importance to something.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...PLEASE don't kill me O.O It wasn't what you expected was it? I'm sorry. It's not the last of Sherlock, promise. But uhh yeah... I'm sorry. I suck. How did i do with Sherlock? And what'd you think of their meeting. Wasn't much, i know. REVIEW, FOLLOW, FAVORITE YOU KNOW i like that shit. Chapter 22: The Son and The Brother ...I'll just leave that there. You think what you will. Okay, fine. Christopher comes back to apologize and we discover him and Roman are A LOT alike. (kinda.) A better look at Christopher's childhood. It's kinda sad but yeah. PLOT TWIST BROS You excited? BUT i'm sorry to say chapter 22 won't be posted until next Thursday! Just keep stirring over my shit bro. I LOVE YOU PEOPLE, now get off my back. ^.^ jk. Support me. I'M SORRY FOR ERRORS I WANTED TO GET THIS UP ASAP.
> 
> Don't forget to read Psychoanalyze my Deductions
> 
> A new note. I'm a shitty writer .-. i'm sorry for my errors guys. I edit by myself cuz i have no friends. But be looking at this story to be 40 to 45 chapters long so stick it in for the long haul okay? Love you xoxoxoxo


	22. Chapter 22: The Son and The Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Well after Christopher and Roman's little fall out Roman take a moment to basically go over life but that's quickly interrupted as Christopher comes to apologize. But he's bring more than a 'i'm sorry' as we get a closer look on Christopher's life and his best friend who is connected to Roman. O.O AHEAD OF TIME i'm sorry for errors... i felt shitty while editing.

Chapter 22: The Son and The Brother

I thought i'd take a night to go out, and by out i actually mean stand in the center my rather large back yard that masked the rest of the world with a thick lining of trees. I never wondered what was on the other side, but i hoped it was nothing more than woods. Everyone is scared of the unknown. However it was nighttime, everything was black, especially the wood lining so outside was only good for stargazing. I'm okay with that. By having the absence of not all but most colors gave me a good thinking view. I could actually concentrate without feeling distracted by noise or people.

Time for review.

Today had been a awful day.

First, Christopher and his forceful pressure to get information over Trevor's death out of me made it extremely terrible. What did it matter to him? I didn't want to remember him! Yet, ever since Christopher brought him up, he remained in the back of my head, just poking at my restless brain. The gruesome images of his autopsy flickered in my brain. The traditionally Y incision i was ordered to make, removing major organs while examining them perplexed, tearing him apart one by one. Then all of it to be for nothing. God, i prayed it was just a joke. It wasn't real, he was just playing. But no… a fucking overdose of spiked heroine. I lost my best friend over a damn drug. That idiot. I could never forgive him, nor Christopher for that matter. All he had to do was research his name and trust me, it wasn't hard to find the obituary. There, he'd find out what actually happened. What nightmare i was forced to live. I may not be able to forgive Trevor but i could at least try and forget him.

Sherlock. Today in a back alley i met my father for the first time. It wasn't a moment of reunitement or longing compassion, not even close. Instead, my father broke every good hope i ever had about him. How could he look me in the eyes, (after breaking my sunglasses i use to hide myself) and not see me? Not Mr. Adler the 'problematic antisocial mortician from America' but his one and only son. He saw me as a threat to everyone or some kind of wanna-be. Just someone in line to take his job. How could he? Sherlock Holmes may be more witty than the average but his thick headed, jealous and hostile attitude proved otherwise. Prick. Hard to deduct or not, i was pretty obviously to his blood. I hated to say it, it made me sick to my stomach to think of about how much we painfully looked alike. I tried to change that, honestly, by wearing the sun shades, classic attire, a Gothic witch-doctor look to public eye, and using chemicals to style my hair straight. I wasn't about being Sherlock number two even though the original himself was attempted to recreate. I don't understand. I hate him, God i hate him.

Mycroft's suspension on me from my father i now am grateful for. I don't ever want to see him again. But the biggest problem at hand is the "warning" Mycroft bestowed upon me earlier today. I was to dismiss Christopher from my morgue and cut all ties with him. I understood Mycroft wishes. He was right. If i really "cared" about Christopher i would want protect him to the best of abilities, that'd mean removing him from my life. Protected him from me. Because having people around was a bad idea and i put everyone at danger. I wasn't sure of what harm anyone meant, no one was around long enough to find out.

How much did i honestly care about Christopher? I'd only known Christopher for almost a year and i hooked onto him. I don't even know why. He 'grew' on me, you could say. His company became quick routine, expected and when a moment late i felt the need to panic and scold him harshly when he arrived. On the other hand, being just an average stupid university student going into a field he had no idea about, stuck in his father's shadow he behaved normal. Dressed normal… well sorta. His odd patterned dress shirts, sweaters and his unnecessary tight pants that some how separated him from the classified homosexual and heterosexual man was… different. I never understood that. To someone else, he was nothing special. But me, exceptional. Of course there was that intoxicating sexual performance he put off with me. It made my addiction settle to regimen. Without him my problem would spin out of control. I wouldn't make it out again. God, if Christopher was gone... i couldn't make it. His bodily presence was futile. For my own good. So I just couldn't let him go. Call me selfish, greedy, lustful, spoiled i don't care but Christopher Watson isn't going anywhere.

Once i came down from my cloud of thought i felt a warm liquid run down the side of my cheeks and after i realized it was there more kept falling. Like steaming as falling from a fire sky. Was i was crying? I shouldn't be getting emotional over such frivolous things. Annoyed with my tear ducts i whipped them away, only making it worse. Fuck Roman. Get it together! I felt these weren't tears of pain but tears of irritation now. Just stop.

Suddenly, from the distance i heard my backyard screen door slide open slowly. Someone was now outside with me. I couldn't tell the color of their ore with being so far out in the yard but i knew someone was there. I heard cautious footsteps crack on the ground, breaking like ice. Their approach was cautious

"Roman?"

Christopher.

"I know you probably don't want to see me right now. I made you pretty mad earlier but... i'm here to apologize." His spoke softly.

I said nothing, just rub my eyes to makes the tears go away and try to put myself back together. Dark or not he could be able to tell i'd been crying.

"Roman," he was right behind me, "I'm sorry."

I turned around. Trying my best to look him in the eyes but struggling to keep my eyes dry.

"I stepped out of line and I shouldn't have forced something like out of you. I had no idea."

"...You tried to accuse me of murder." I said folding my arms.

Christopher took a step back and held up his hands, "In my defensive, you're a very private person so as a detective in training my assumptions often come off too harsh."

"Too harsh? First, you accuse me of having relations with Trevor. Then when that wasn't it you automatically jump the gun and conjure homicide."

"...I said i was sorry."

I sighed and walking past him.

This "sorry" was getting weaker as our conversation continued it was best to just leave it alone. He was sorry for pissing me off, not for prying. No one is sorry for prying.

Christopher followed me to sit on patio furniture out under this starry night. I looked out to my expanding yard that lead into the endless wood-lining. The trees looked like anger trolls about to grab innocent creatures. Break their necks and swallow them whole. I've always hated the woods.

"You aren't the only one who's had to bury a friend." Christopher started off, "I lost my best friend a couple years ago." He took a moment to pulse, breathe and continue, "He was shot walking home from my house."

I glanced over at him, expecting to see a scared, or hurt reaction but instead his face was numb and expressionless so i nodded concerned show my interest in his words.

"He was my best friend. We all grew up together… Julia, him and i. I mean he was almost five years older than us but we were all still pretty close. He was like my big brother, you know?"

"Somethings left unsaid?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed, "a lot. A couple weeks before he died, Julia and him had gotten in caught screwing around He was almost fucking nineteen and Julia was only fourteen, maybe? Neither of them told me anything. I had no idea he even liked her! ….I was only told because my dad had heard something about it. " He ran a hand through his hair, "Ha..., somehow through all of it he expected me to be okay with it. Like my whole life of being in love with Julia didn't matter because she'd never date me. So he just took her from me, you don't do that."

When he said that for some reason it brought me back to the spring break party i went to with Trevor where i'm pretty sure i meant Julia the first time. Now knowing whether or not we slept together i'm still not sure but just in case it was a good thing i told him. He didn't get pissed at all, nothing. I didn't understand that. Still, it wasn't like it was the first time she's been stolen from him. Not that i meant to take her, honestly. Sometimes, I wonder… if i hadn't had told him would it have changed anything? Were we doomed to sleep together? No matter what It wouldn't change Julia's past though. A slut is a slut.

"You really know how to pick 'em." I gave a one sided laugh.

"I know. Growing up Julia was a huge tom-boy. Both of her parents died when she was young, i'm not sure how. She doesn't have any siblings or much family so she lived with her grandmother. She had a hard time as a child playing well with girls, he liked to rip the heads off barbie dolls so i guess that's why we became friends. When she got older, Julia was really into a Gothic style, if that's what it's called. The loud rock music that screams, black clothing and depressing art. And uhh..." His head cocked a bit "...She really seemed to like hurting herself? She always had cuts on her wrist and legs. She never tried to hide them, she wanted people to see. I never understood that. I'd be the whole "please stop" and the "i care about you" or the "you'll end up killing yourself". I made a fool out of myself because she just got mad and said that was the point and no one loved her. She was terrifying her teenage years, quite frankly."

Self harm isn't always for attention. Some people can't feel anything, (or so they say) so it's a coping method. They'll hide him and become very dangerous with it, possibly killing themselves on accident. At a point in my life, i was just one of those people who liked hurting themselves.

"We went to school together and no one would ever guess we were friends. At school it was like she avoided me. She hung out with these drug users and trouble makers. I'd see her smoking and that use to piss me off so bad. She was too pretty to smoke. Or she would ditch school and because i was the idiot that cared about her more than necessary i ended doing her homework and projects just so she'd pass." He cleared his throat, "I tried to help whatever pain Julia was in but she just pushed me away. She liked Maximum more, that was his name. He was i guess, her 'dream guy'. Tall, almost coal black hair, big blue eyes, dark and mysterious kind of guy and most of all, he was older. He liked motorcycles and racing. The kind of adventure she was into. So close to death you could smell it rising from your own skin. Maybe he was better for her than me. He kept her clean, healthy and eating. While i was confused, passive aggressive and caught up in a future i may not have tomorrow. I'm ...Short, quiet, too nice and average."

Far from average my dear Watson.

Christopher shift in his seat thinking to hard.

"Anyways, I got off track. Before he died we had been fighting for a while over Julia. He tried to convince me she hated me and she was only being my friend because my father. They were close. But Maximum told me he was in love with her and since his father wasn't going to allow them to be together they were going to run away. How stupid does that sound? He knew i was in love with her. How selfish could one be? So, what i told him... was i hated him and to go burn… in hell." He swallowed the words, almost choking, "After that i made him leave, not even ten minutes later my dad and i hear gunshots. I don't think my heart ever beat so hard before. I was ordered to stay inside, while my dad ran outside to see what'd happened. When he came back ...he was covered in blood… his blood."

"Did they ever find out who killed him?" I said bluntly.

"No. There wasn't even a funeral."

"Why not?"

"Well, do you know Mycroft Holmes?"

My eyes shot dead on his. My blood began to run cold to the point i think it froze in place. My body locked and i stopped breathing. What did Mycroft have to do with any of this? Oh, god. It didn't scare me that Christopher knew him being John's child but what ties did he have to his best friend's death.

I had to play if off mindless but familiar, "I've heard of him."

"Yeah well it was his son. Maximum Holmes. Everyone just called him Max."

Maximum Holmes - Mycroft's son? What!?

I was actually shocked about this. Mycroft never told me he had a son, nor would i have guessed he did. Just Adalynn and she never once spoke about a brother. Maybe he was to young to remember him. A son? Damn. I never ventured much out of my room while i lived with him but i did noticed a room across from mine. No one ever went inside or came out. The only time i tried to go in there was to look for Adalynn during one of our games. The door was locked so i never thought much of it. But now that i think of it, there was a time or two when Mycroft accidentally called me Max. Again, i never questioned it because i didn't care.

I held back from showing too much interest. It'd seem off to the well-on-his-way-detective-Watson would figure it out. I looked straight ahead and thought deep about my new found information.

"They didn't even had a funeral. Everyone just moved on and forgot him like he never existed, even Julia and his own father. But i couldn't... how could i? Max may had been an asshole in the end but he was my friend. I wished forever i could just go back and change everything..."

"You can't." My words were cold, but true.

"I know. I miss him, sometimes." He shifted more, "Is it bad to think i was kinda happy he was dead? I finally had Julia all to myself."

"No."

"It's not like it mattered though, i waited three years. I know it will be hard for you picture but she use to be so beautiful. Before she whacked off all her hair it was long, thick brown. It reminded me of melted chocolate. Her skin was so tan i wondered if she was really English. But after she turned eighteen it's like she fell like a broken angel. Getting into drugs and drinking, ...i had to pull her from a crack house once." Christopher looked at me, "She dropped out of college, but some how managed to get her license in cosmetology? After that inch by inch her life was copped away. Yet, i still loved her. What a idiot i was. I think she just used me for drug money and something to toy with. I hate how sometimes she reminds me so much of Maximum."

The emotional connection Christopher had to this Maximum guy was closer than Trevor and i ever were. I just saw him a reckless double of me and fun guy to get fucked up with. Live life to the fullest. We never got close enough actually try a friendship.

His dying feeling for Julia was completely out of my comprehension level. Just another pretty face fading away, showing true colors, that's what i saw.

I put my arm around Christopher unaware. He did not flinch or seem uncomfortable so i kept it there.

"So see, i know what it's like to lose a friend." He rested his head on my shoulder, "Sometimes though…outside Julia's behavior i feel he's still alive. Living amongst Julia and i. Away from this life and his father. They didn't get along for some reason. But knowing Mycroft, that could be possible, him still being alive i mean. He faked his death so Mycroft could ship him off somewhere away from Julia."

"Knowing Mycroft, that could be possible." Those words stuck to me better than anything else Christopher had said. Was Mycroft willing to kill his own son so he would disassociate himself from Julia? Other than age what was so wrong about Julia and him being together? The more i learned about Julia the less i came to like her. There was something cursed about her. Off, not right. With possibly causing his death and breaking Christopher's heart.

This story seemed all too repetitive.

"Tell me, what was Trevor like?" Christopher crossed his arms. Watching the fog roll out of his mouth.

My eyes glazed over with deep thoughts on this new information. I wanted to know more but i knew i couldn't ask question. I just barely heard Christopher's question.

"I don't like to relive the memories." I said in a distant, zombie voice.

"And you think i do? When did you two meet?".

"Third year. Thanatology class."

"Bit ironic don't you think?" He giggled.

"Shut up," I flicked his face playfully.

"What was he like?"

"Like me, only terrible." I said in a as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

"I didn't think that was possible."

I couldn't help but smile at his smart-assness.

"...Did you guys ever shag?"

It went silent. The true music of the night sung it's song. But only for a moment as i wanted to make it feel awkward, yet serious, "Yes, all the time. He actually died of majors hemorrhoids because of all the sex we had."

Christopher shot up and looked at me with huge eyes, "Really?!"

"No."

His body released all it tension and he relaxed back down into my shoulder, "Jesus, Roman." He laughed.

Yep. I'm keeping this one.

…

After that night the name Maximum Holmes wouldn't leave my brain. I pondered the pronunciation, the meaning, and the background behind it. He was Mycroft son who died young, actually he was only two years older than me. He was murdered and they never found who did it? But why? What were they hiding? Foul play for sure. What threat did he oppose to Mycroft? Better yet, what rule did he break? I had a few of them myself; stay away from Sherlock or be killed and the new one being remove Christopher from my life. But i made the decision to break that rule. Could my punishment be the same as Maximum's? He was ordered to stay away from Julia, when he decided not to he died. Who was to blame? What really didn't add up is Mycroft's pressure for everyone to live like he never died. Being the cold, hollow and dead set man that he was compassion within your own child still existed, right? Mycroft couldn't heartlessly take out his son because he made a choice on his own that he did not like. Would he do the same if i kept Christopher in my life?

Fuck, for some reason i was overly intrigued to find out more about Maximum. Something was pulling me towards him. Of course my timeline was not adding up, i needed answers that made since.

"I need to talk to you." My voice was firm, but calm.

I sat down slowly, and carefully in a stiff chair across from Mycroft's desk. I watched the aging man lay down his blood red pen that he was using quite steeply. He looked up at me with tired eyes and a dim silver ore to match his mood. His tie was loosened from his neck and his jacket hung on the back of his office chair. I could tell he's had a long night of work, maybe this was bad timing. Mycroft looked exhausted.

"What is it? I'm busy."He said with a low tone.

I held back just in case i wanted to retreat, "I… who was Maximum Holmes?"

It was too late now to take it back. He changed from a slouched over man to a highly interested student His body's ore seemed to glow like fire, his eyes widen just a bit and his posture straightened up, give a panicked, sharp reply, "Where did you hear that name?"

"Christopher."

I decided to be straightforward about my given information. It was his turn to be on trial not mine. I always way. Plus, i couldn't find an alternative.

"I told you to stay away fro-"

"This isn't about him right now. Who is Maximum?" I cut him off staring at him in his tired blue eyes.

I could say there was tension in the room but i'm not really sure it was there. Mycroft came off very easy, giving less of a fight. Probably because he was awfully jaded.

He sighed, "Well, what do you already know?"

"He was your son and he died."

"Then there you go."

His body language didn't change on the topic, just expressionless, worn out and empty look in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"It wasn't relevant."

"Yes it is. You brought me here not even a year after his death. Why?"

"That was coincidental."

"Was i some kind of replacement?"

He sighed aggravated, rubbing his eyes, "Now Mr. Adler i never engaged a 'father-son' relationship with you during your time here now did i?"

"You put me on a pedestal like one."

"I mean not to be ill-mannered but how would know what a son's expectations are if you never had a father to give them to you?"

I stared at him for a couple minutes before i completely understood what he said. Mycroft just said that to hurt me somehow, to make me leave. Instead i pushed all feelings aside and kept on my reason for being here, "Tell me about Maximum. What was he like?" I forced myself to continue.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Looking dumbfounded before speaking, "Maximum was… polite, far better mannered than you ever could be," he shot a glance down to me, "Very intelligent, one of the brightest in this family. He was a fairly good role model for Christopher while growing up. However, he was stubborn as an ass. I could not get that kid to agree on anything with me. Maximum was going make something amazing out of himself."

"From what i was told it didn't look to be you and him had a very good relationship."

"It was rocky. He had his own way of doing things. Things he deemed to "more civil and humane". Which what that meant was a psychological approach when dealing with people. But for Maximum that was easy. He knew how to control people. Even for his age he was a fairly good con-man. Manipulative. He could make you think your whole life was a lie by using words that have yet to exist," Mycroft looked to his left, "and he wanted to waste that talent on ill minded people."

Civil - Courteous and polite.

Humane - Having or showing compassion or benevolence.

Manipulative - characterized by unscrupulous control of a situation or person.

"Julia, she played a major role on him?"

Mycroft and i locked eyes. Bringing up Julia seemed to make his blood run cold. I watched him adjust himself, look around and breathe deeply, "Yes..." His voice cracked.

"Who is she?"

"One of the most dangerous people you'll ever meet," He pulsed. "And she doesn't even know her true potential."

My chest tighten, stitching my lungs up and panic ran through me. My fingertips lost feeling and my head, my mind, my concentration shook. I knew Julia was up to no good but, dangerous? What didn't i know? Why hasn't Mycroft don't something about her? Does he not care? Oh, God.

"...I...why haven't you taken her out?"

"Without Maximum she poses little threat."

"What about Christopher? She could hurt him." I sounded helpless.

"That is not my problem Mr. Adler. Maximum was my responsibility and i failed him. I will not make the same mistake with you, that why you need to stay away from Christopher."

What threat did Julia have on me? Christopher made his own choice to leave her after she cheated. She hurt him. He was just my employee and stimulate for my addiction.

It was best not to fight about Christopher. I didn't want to lose him. Mycroft wasn't alert enough and i still was a bit confused. And if it went bad...

"Did she kill him?"

"...After i made him end his relationship with her ...i don't know.."

"Should we be worrying about her?"

"If you do as i say, no. If you disobey me… Mr. Adler one day you just may wake up in a world made of fire and brimstone."

All i could do is nod. I wasn't sure what meant by waking up in a whole new world. Was he implying that he'd put me there, or Julia? I knew better than to think Mycroft would kill his own son. He couldn't do that. It had to of been Julia. She took his life when she thought she was going to lose him. Why didn't she do the same with Christopher? Fuck! I ran a hand through my hair trying to sort all this out. Julia and Max equal Max's death. Julia and Christopher equal peace. But she wanted Maximum more than Christopher. what does Christopher and i equal? There was danger behind him and i being around each other. What was it? Maybe this time, i wasn't the monster.

There was one more question i currently had. My timeline wasn't fitting to it.

"Who's Maximum's mother? It can't be Anthea. Maximum was already three years old when she started."

I watched Mycroft swallow hard and sink in his chair. Nervous? His heart rate was increasing and his body temperature was rising. He rolled his eyes and tried his best to keep eye contact, "Mr. Adler what you need to understand is ...i loved her first and i always have."

"Wha...what do you mean?"

"I would have done anything for her. But never did i think i'd have to take her life."

My face was blank but my breathing was unknowingly fixating. My mouth went dry and instantly the painful memories flashed in my head. Running the man with a green ore words in my brain over and over again. The screaming voice, the chaos, My life fell apart that day. I lost everything. The blue light, and the pain that followed and rendered me helpless.

Mother.

"...Is Maximum my..." I struggled to finish.

"Maximum is your brother Roman." Mycroft finished for me.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST MOTHER FUCKERS were you expecting that? Probably not! MAXIMUM IS ROMAN'S BROTHER! AND HE'S DEAD! OH MY! Well there you go hope you liked it! I struggled to edit this because i'm lazy and super busy. Review, fallow, favorite please! ^^ ATTENTION: Next week i have finals so i will NOT be updating again until May 25 (Monday). I'm sorry to leave you like this but my schooling comes first. But MAY 25: Chapter 23: The Lover and The Truth Roman learns A LOT of his mother and Mycroft's relationship and how Maximum was created and even Roman himself. Irene and Sherlock's relationship as well! Lastly, Roman makes the decision he wants to tell Christoper the truth about who he is! Oh my! It's a pretty amazing chapter honestly.
> 
> Check out my other story Psychoanalyze My Deductions.


	23. Chapter 23: The Lover and The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman Adler went to Mycroft for answer's about his now dead son Maximum. In a twist of ...fate? Max turns out to be Roman's older brother. But how? Roman will now find out Irene and Mycroft's relationship together and her Sherlock's. At the end Roman makes a brave decision to protect the one person he cares about. Christopher.
> 
> ~~Im sorry this is up late i was busy yesterday cleaning out my attic. I haven't slept yet so expect shitty editing. Guys i'm really falling behind i'm only on Chapter 26 ._. i need a beta reader and some motivation... fuck my life. But enjoy... Im sorry~~

Chapter 23: The Lover and The Truth

"Maximum is my brother?"

I'd only heard about Maximum Holmes from Christopher after minor conflict over Trevor's death. He was Mycroft oldest child and only son, being two years older than me. He died not even a year before i came to England, shot down in the middle of a lonely street trying to go home after a distasteful fight with Christopher over Julia, who they both were in love with. Strangely, they never prosecuted someone for his death, as far as we know the killer could still be out there. Living among everyone in London. Mycroft thought it would be best to forget about his own son and move on. His reason for doing so was because Maximum wanted to live a life outside of his father's wishes. Manipulative, a con-man, and predominant. Then… there was Julia. The girl Maximum loved, wanted and possibly lost his life for. Mycroft wasn't fond of her. She was dangerous. But why? I came to Mycroft looking for answers of Maximum's death. And in the back of my mind to some how pin the murder on him. Instead i came to know Julia was a vile women, having a negative effect on Maximum, breaking Christopher's heart and nearly ripping their friendship apart. One woman did this, all of this. Could she be to blame for his death? To his father it was okay that he died. It kept Julia away from the family. But now here i sat, completely staggered by the the sudden reveal from Mycroft that Maximum Holmes was my brother. A brother i never met and never would.

"I met your mother while she was in university studying to become a primary teacher. To help her get through school she practiced BDSM on the side. A 'hobby'. I'm not sure what lead her to think of such work. But..," he sighed looking a bit overwhelmed, "a friend of mine had gotten himself into trouble with Irene, so as reprehend she obtained information that would ruin his career and life."

Black Mail - Treated as a criminal offense, of demanding money from a person in return for not revealing compromising or injurious information about that person.

"So of course he came to me for help, what little i could do. I only held a small position in the parliament. I did try though, confronting her while she was coming back from one her classes. There, we sat down to a chat. She was awfully set on her plan."

"What plan?" I asked.

"As i said my friend had got into strife. Irene wanted ten thousand dollars or she'd expose him. Money he did not have. Thus started her career of putting people under her thumb."

"Did she get the money?"

"Yes. Once i learned she needed the money for her schooling i gladly paid her. But little did i know she had lied, played me like a fiddle. That was the first of many times she crossed me. The money did not go towards her education instead she took the money i invested and used it expand her practice in erotic sexual pleasure. So of course, i stopped giving her the necessary payments to keep her "schooling" going."

"What happened to the guy she was blackmailing?"

"Committed suicide. Couldn't handle Irene's pressure. Shame." Mycroft rubbed the side of his face.

"And Irene?"

"After discovering her lies and cutting off fancies she was left with empty hands, having to drop out of school and succumb to nothing but the trash on the streets. A couple months later she returned begging for a taste of what she had. What i gave her. So, the tables turned. I provided her a home, clothes of price, food and safety in return we made a deal that she'd become my... escort."

Escort - A woman paid by the hour, not the act, but usually for sex.

"Your mother was young, beautiful and very well behaved. I was in need of someone like her to boost my campaign. Her job was simple, be polite, and make me look good. I have a small thanks to your mother go helping get to where i am now." He had a weak smile on his face.

"But you said you love her? What about Maximum?"

"Oh yes," He leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk, "From the moment i met Ms. Adler I fancied her. Sadly, a pretty outside only meant an ugly inside, she taught me that. But I feel at one time Irene loved me back, i knew it when i looked into her eyes. I treated her well. Yes, she was my escort but i gave her freedoms to love outside of her job, although she never did. She stayed at home with me in my arms. We spend a lot of time together going to Greece, Rome, Italy and America. I was in love with her like some helpless schoolboy. And since she seemed to be happy with the paradise i provided her maybe that was enough for her to love me back. I could protect her. When she told me she was pregnant at a dinner party we went to, i could honestly say it one of the happiest days of my life, her's too. I remember that day better than yesterday. I had to planned to marry her before Maximum was born but something in Irene changed..." He looked down at the table, "She developed postpartum depression before he was even born. Irene tried to kill him by drinking herself to death, using prescription drugs and stressing herself out. A self induced miscarriage. From those moment on i was scarred. Irene didn't want to be a mother and I knew she wasn't fit to be a mother of my child. Certainly not to my children..."

I could tell it was getting harder for him to continue. His eyes lost color and his face looked helpless. After a pulse he continued, "...Subsequently Maximum was born with her showing very little interest in him. So i let her return back her life without me or my son apart of it. She never came back. So yes, i did love Irene Adler and maybe one day before our son she loved me back."

"How did Sherlock get involved?"

"My brother's involvement was completely oblivious. Irene went back her old ways and eventually it put her life in grave danger. And of course she came running back to me. I wanted little to do with her 'cause even then… i loved her. I placed her with Sherlock. The moment she looked into his eyes it hit me. She was no longer mine. I honestly don't think my heart hurt ever so bad before."

"So she did love Sherlock..." I trailed off.

"...And regretfully Sherlock loved her back. I lost the only women i would ever love to my lack of a better word, hollow brother. I know i told you that neither of them loved each other but i probably... now to think of it, said that out of purse jealousy. Sherlock was incapable of protecting her and i, filled with envy and pain dispatched myself from my own brother." Mycroft rubbed his temples, "When she told me she was pregnant…it was like a nightmare. I'd never been so upset, hurt, and in denial before. I could have killed Irene or Sherlock. He betrayed me… my own brother. And i would have done it if i were as less of a man. But instead, knowing her situation i did the best thing possible… exiled her to America, she always loved it there. It didn't take long before Sherlock found out and after that he cut contact off with me for many years. Still to this day am i lucky to see him once every six months."

He looked up at me from under his brows with a deadly serious glare in his dull blue eyes,"She broke my heart so i broke her freedom." He continued to stare at me, "Placing Irene in America took all her power away and being pregnant with you terminated her ability continue her old ways. She was forced to become a mother. You were her constant reminder of the man she could never have and lifestyle because of the man's heart she broke. Roman, you may not see it this way but your existence was futile to tame that wicked woman. She was never a mother to the child she wanted but she damned to be the mother to the child she accidentally created. Oddly enough, i feel she was happier carrying Sherlock''s child rather than mine. But everyday i hoped she watched you grow up and you painful admonished her of something she could never have. Sherlock."

My mind was quickly taking in Mycroft's information and putting it into words i could understand. If i wasn't born my mother could have torn this country apart? I think my answer was pretty obvious.

"How'd she get back into touch with you?"

"I'm not sure, i assume somebody from parliament. But Roman even not speaking to her for almost eighteen years i still wanted to hold onto the thought of her love with me. I thought of her almost everyday." He took a deep breath, "...Maximum had died a month prior to her contact with me. I lose my only son, then she comes back to tell me she's dying of cancer, wants me to end her suffering and then finish raising her child. My brother's child after just losing mine? That was the hardest thing i've ever had to do."

My voice was raspy, childish, "I...i'm sorry."

Mycroft nodded looking about the room.

"Did Maximum know Irene was his mother?" I questioned.

"No. Unlikely Adalynn i never had to tell him his mother was dead. He was smarter than that, i just simply said she wasn't in the picture. It was the truth. But as for most children they blame themselves for situations like that. I couldn't stand to look at his heartbreaking face when he thought of her."

"Is that why you hired Anthea?"

"At first, no. She was merely an assistant. But over time Maximum fell in love her, viewing her as his mother figure. Even though she was eleven years younger than i he still pressed we be together. I never thought it was a good idea. But wanting the best for him i gave it a shot."

I waved my finger. "And when she got pregnant?"

He gave a short, fake laugh and ran a hand through his thinned hair. "I could have had a heart attack! Anthea and i weren't serious enough to be thinking of children. I suggested abortion..." he sighed, "it just seemed immoral and unclassy to have a child with a coworker much younger than you. Gravely enough i decided not too. Who am i to end a child's life? But i knew i couldn't risk my unborn child to have a unprepared mother like Maximum. However, Anthea handled her pregnancy well. Sadly, that damn mobile consumed her and it still does. She's addicted."

"It sounds like to me you only deprived Anthea of her right to be a mother because Irene ruin that privilege for you."

"I gave Anthea freedom to care for Adalynn just as a mother would. She poorly took that responsibility."

"Would you want to take responsibility for a child you can't even call your own?" I imply.

"I took you in did not i?" He raised a brow at me.

Fuck, he had me there. I wasn't his problem, still, i was from the women he loved and the child of his younger brother. Could he have just abandoned me?

"...I see. Well, i think your only reason for taking me in was for breeding purposes."

"And how is that coming along?"

"Not to your expectations."

"You still have time Mr. Adler." Mycroft straightened up his papers.

"I don't think you should be expecting any children from me...ever."

Mycroft looked up to me, studying my numb expressions. He seemed confused about my statement, "Why not?" He demanded.

"I'm not the family type. I see no reason to continue my series."

"Mr. Adler you must."

I sighed deeply, "See, Adler. My last name is Adler. I would be continuing my mother's last name, not you's."

I stuck a needle in his balloon of real ideas.

"..I could change that."

I sat up straight, carrying serious tone in my vocals. "So that's all it took? Find a girl, knock her up and then marry her. I'd become a Holmes then? That simple?"

He had no answer, just a blank stares at me.

Are you fucking kidding me? All these years i thought in order to earn my true last name i'd have to prove my worthiness. Carry Holmes characteristics; antisocial, alone, bitter, an asshole, narcissistic, overly educated, and emotionally numb. Eventually if i achieved all these traits i'd justify my true last name and maybe… meet my father. Now, didn't want any of that. Fuck that.

"You're pathetic." I spat at Mycroft.

I stood up, straightening myself out. Quite disgusted with Mycroft and his idea of "earning my last name". I pulled my coat on.

"...What threat does Julia oppose on me?" I asked.

"None as long as you follow my orders."

"Mycroft you shouldn't be so paranoid. Julia isn't my "type"."

He glared at me with cold eyes. Not enjoying my humor, "Your personal preference isn't the problem. Christopher Watson's existence around you puts your life in danger."

"How?"

Mycroft suddenly pounded his hand on the desk, fed up with my childish questioning. "Where Julia comes from her job should be to destroy the Holmes! Every last one of them. She's already taken out my son, and i know she knows Irene Adler was his mother. She could easily find out Irene had another child, you Roman. Julia could discover your connection to us. Then Julia will take you out just as well. You double your chances by associating with Christopher!"

"What about Christopher?! John has a strong relationship into the Holmes name. Wouldn't she want to take his family out too?"

I became careless to my own safety long ago.

"That isn't my concern. My job is to protect this family."

I threw my hands up, "Family? I'm hardly part of this family!"

"You are close enough to be the same amount of danger as us!" Mycroft face was getting red.

I get it now. Christopher was just a pawn to him. A distraction to Julia from her real targets, them. A stepping stone. That was cold. Completely pernicious and utterly cruel. Mycroft didn't care about John or his family. How would Sherlock feel about this? Or maybe he was on his side. John was a shield for Sherlock. How wicked.

"I get it. Christopher is just a scapegoat. Living on borrowed time until Julia finally see her potential."

"It's a matter of priorities Mr. Adler."

I turned around away from him. How could i stand here and listen to his shamelessly murder Christopher with such words? I couldn't stand for this. I wasn't going to coward in the shadow until forced out by the false light that was Julia.

"Someone has to protect him."

"He is protected. You're screwing that up."

He's lying. Christopher is too stupid to know Julia's malign ways. He's in love with her, for fuck's sakes. My intervene into his life has nothing to with his feelings for her nor his chances for living...does it?

Silence. Neither of us had any more arguments on the current subject. Mycroft thought he'd won but really i mentally knew he was lying. There was no protection for Christopher and I had to do something about it.

"...I'm going to tell Christopher the truth about me." I said while i buttoned up my coat.

"You can't." Mycroft's voice scared, broke a pitch.

"And why not? From the very beginning you never once told me i had to keep who i was a secret."

"It may have not been a secret you were told to keep but it was one you chose not to tell."

I swallowed hard.

I had no reason to tell anyone but now, Christopher's and i friendship was on the line. Plus his life. I needed to protect him. I wanted too.

"He deserves to know." I aimed my footing at the door.

"Okay, so you tell him you're Sherlock's son, he won't believe you. Then what Mr. Adler?" Mycroft pressed.

"I'll prove it to him."

"And once you successfully 'prove' your case you've only created a bigger problem for yourself Mr. Adler." He slowly stood up, "Because two can keep a secret if one of you is dead."

I turned to face Mycroft, he shown to be confidant in his previous statement.

"Then that's a risk i'm willing to take. Goodbye."

"Mr. Adler!"

He tried to call for me but i'd left out of his office, bring a brimming storm behind me. I was done talking. I made up my mind.

Mental replay: Maximum Holmes was my older brother who was shot and killed less than a year before my involvement with Mycroft Holmes. He failed to tell me about my brother existence. I found out by John Watson's son Christopher who is also my employee at the morgue, and the provider for my addiction of erotic pleasure. He and i are currently working on a serial murder case. Missing heart, missing killer. Christopher was the one that informed me of Maximum and his death. So in search for answer i went to Mycroft who gave me more than i expected. My mother's true self, Anthea and his relationship status and most importantly Julia. Mycroft assumes Maximum's death was performed by Julia, whose job is to end the Holmes. Did she really ever love him? Who was Julia?

Now into the present, Christopher and Julia became a couple. She eventually cheated on him. They break up. What could she be plotting now? Mycroft's desired i remove myself from Christopher to protect myself. He is the Holmes scapegoat when to comes to Julia. Nothing but a pawn. But i wasn't going to allow that. I'm going to protect him.

Even if it means risking my life.

…

After a weekend of contemplation i finally decided to tell Christopher the truth. Every moment i thought about it i could have gotten sick. I don't remember that last time i ate/

I am Sherlock Holmes son. Whether i like it or not it was the truth.

Hey, come over. I need to talk to you. -RA

My heart pounded in my chest, harder, loud, quicker until he replied.

Why? Is everything okay? -CW

Just get over here ASAP. -RA

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Christopher react? Damn Roman. Review, Favorite Follow please i like support! I'm on summary vacation now so i'm just blah i don't wanna do anything with my life. I wanna die haha. And since i'm behind and I'm lazy so i'm not sure when i'll be updating now. I'll try for once a week. I'm sorry my mom hates that i stay in my room all day... even though there is nothing else to do. BUT ANYWAY Chapter 24: The Reaction and The Au Revior Roman tells Christopher the truth and... well... umm i'm not going to say it goes over well. That's really all i can say.
> 
> GUYS, GIRLS, PEOPLE ALIENS I DON'T FUCKING KNOW CHECK OUT MY OTHER STORIES: The Only Man I'd Ever Love (Hope to update by Thursday) and Psychoanalyze My Deductions (I maybe discontinue) AND MY LATEST AND MOST DEPRESSING STORY (possible one shot) His Very Last Vow. PLEASE ^^


	24. The Reaction and The Au Revior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman gets the gut to tell Christopher who he really is. How does Christopher react? What will happen? Will this bring Roman and Christopher together or pull them apart forever? Read to find out.
> 
> Sorry i'm three weeks late. I was revising with my editor which in all honestly didn't go very far, not what expected BUT we are still trying. ^^ Plus i'm really behind on his story so i wanted to do a little ketchup. I'm currently working on chapter 29 Yay! I guess. This chapter is messy i apologize. Enjoy.

Chapter 24: The Reaction and The Au Revior

I paced around in my living room almost like the first time Christopher came to my house. Around and around, stopping on occasions to readjust my thinking or review a thought. How am i going to do this? What if he doesn't believe me? I was falling apart mentally. Nervous, anxious, making myself sick to the stomach. Fuck. But this time was different than the first. I wasn't about to include myself in a school semester project with the son of my father's best friend. No. If it were that i could actually produce sensible thoughts. My hands wouldn't shaking and i wouldn't be pulling at my hair to stay calm. I need to do this. I have to. I was going to tell Christopher Watson who i really was. I am, Roman Adler, the son of the famous Sherlock Holmes. And he, Christopher Watson being the son of Doctor John Watson just so happen, almost like fate had the pleasures of secretly being apart, well being together into the second generation. God, just thinking about it sounded crazy. Completely and utterly mad. Either he'd believe me and nothing would change or he wouldn't ...and oh God I don't know if i can do this.

I have to though, i need to protect Christopher. I promised myself that i would do this. No matter what Mycroft thinks is best. I could trust Christopher. No one had to die and no one would as long as my cards played out as i hoped they would. I prayed that once i told him maybe our relationship would make more since and i wouldn't have to endure his game of twenty questions.

He deserved the truth. Sherlock kept and will continue to keep many things from John in the sake of his own protection and privacy. To an extent it's feasible and it worked. However, when the truth came crashing down like a hailstorm the pain of the truth hurts worse. It makes a home deeper inside you. It lives there and feeds off your ability to have faith in people. I knew this feeling all too well. My life before all this was a lie. A cold, heartless life. My mother disguised herself as someone else my entire young life and i was oblivious to what evil she was responsible for. I had no idea of my father's side of the family and sometimes if i had the chance to change that i would. These past years have been a prison and i was tired of the rules. I'm an adult and i will no longer be treated like a child. I can make my own decisions even if they aren't the right ones. Live and learn.

Anyhow, I wasn't Sherlock so Christopher wasn't going to be left so far into the dark especially without a light. I couldn't lose Christopher.

From the corner of my eye i witnessed my front door swing open and Christopher march in with an external expression of fear on his face. I had no time react while i stood there caught like a deer in the headlights. Panic, adrenaline and fear pumping throughout my body like racing horse. Manner's from both Christopher and i left when he came busting down my door.

"What's going on?!" He quickly moved over to me.

My heart was beating loudly in my ears and the tips of my fingers were sweaty. My mouth felt like a desert no matter how many times i swallowed. I was falling apart.

Christopher stood there, waiting for me to say something, as if i had the words right off. Staring at me with wild eyes and constant lip licking. Why is it in such hostile situations does the genetics of father shine? I saw so much of John, while i looked like the common disappointment of my father. Frantic, scared and possibly overreacting.

"Sit down," I waved towards the couch.

Trembling i walk over and place myself in the chair across from the couch. I couldn't look at Christopher but i could feel him hesitate at my order, then once he complied, he sat on the edge of the couch.

Breathe Roman.

"What's wrong Roman?" He asked scanning me for outer answers.

This was it. There was no going back. Now or never. Christopher was right in front of me standing by for more information. A hundred percent honestly was about to flow from my mouth. I could hold anything back.

I folded my fingers together, moving them up to my mouth and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I'm not who... you ...think I am." My voice broke several times, "My last name isn't really... Adler."

He cocked his head to the side and quickly licked his lips, "What do you mean?"

"I changed it to Adler after my mother died when i was seventeen. Like i've told you, she was murdered."

"Why'd you change it?"

"Have you heard the name Irene Adler before?"

"Vaguely, but yes."

"...She was my mother. All of this is what she left me." I glanced around the house.

There was a short pause from Christopher but he didn't let the silence stay for too long.

"I figured, my father said this house belonged to her. We all just assumed you were a cousin or something."

I let out a mental sigh of relief. Surprisingly enough, he handled that very well. Without a fight or hesitation. I hoped everything else comes as easy.

"But that's not all..." I gulped, "I didn't receive my inheritance until i was eighteen so in the mean time I stayed with ...Mycroft Holmes."

The tension was starting to build now. I could feel it radiate off his body and carry over to me. Christopher shifted in his seat a little and gave me a demented look.

"Thought you said you've only heard of him?"

"I know. I only know him because ...he's family."

Christopher's head tilted up, biting his lip, "What do you mean, family?"

"He's my uncle."

He still wasn't following me. Unsure. He just sat there casting a deathly stared at me. I let him ponder for a second over everything i just said.

Then,

"...Sherlock Holmes is my ...father."

Also immediately, his demeanor changed Christopher laughed, "You're joking, right?"

I said nothing. Just watched his humorous face fade back into the previous seriousness of the situation. I couldn't tell if he was playing along or actually seeing that i'm very grave.

"Roman… you aren't serious?"

"I'm serious Christopher."

He patted his knees and stood up, "Welp, this has been a waste of my time."

"What do you mean?" I remained sitting.

"I know it's been pretty tough between us and just because i wanted to know more about you did not you mean you had to make up such a childish story to mock me. If you wish to remain this immature mystery then be my guest."

"I'm not making it up? It's true."

"Oh, is it now? So if i go over to Sherlock's right now and say your name he'll be like "oh yeah that's my son."? "

I looked down, "He doesn't know i exist..."

Christopher sarcastically laughed to himself, "Of course he doesn't know you exist, because you aren't his son." I went to go say something, anything but he cut me off again, "You know Roman, i thought at least we were friends. We could be truthful with each other when needed but for you to go out of your way to make up such an unoriginal story like this i guess not."

Christopher started to make his way towards the door. Thundering his footsteps behind him.

"No, Christopher wait!" I shot up after him. "Listen to me!"

"Fuck off!"

He ripped open the front door.

"Christopher!" I screamed.

The door slammed harshly behind him. There i stood lost, confused, and shot down. He was gone.

…

Monday, 12:11pm: I'm sorry. -RA

Monday, 7:03pm: Answer me Christopher. -RA

Tuesday, 10:43am: Are you coming to work today? There's a lot to be done. -RA

Wednesday, 2:00pm: Answer me. I need to talk to you. -RA

Friday, 3:32pm: Christopher i know you are mad at me, but please talk to me. I can prove it to you, just give me a chance. -RA

Friday, 4:56am: I can't sleep. Let me explain and after that if you don't want to speak to me again, i understand. -RA

Almost a whole week went by and i hadn't heard from Christopher. He didn't return any of my text or calls. Nor did he show up for work. Maybe i ruined everything. I broke what little relationship Christopher and i had. I really fucked this up. But fuck! If he'd just given more time he would have believed me. I had all the proper evidence to prove my case. There was nothing i could do if he wasn't willing to work things out. All i could do is wait. Sadly i had small patients so i did my best to bury myself in work or mindless experiments. From sun up to down sun i remained in my study or basement. But every fucking second i thought about Christopher. I sometimes found myself talking to no one like it was normal. I thought Christopher was there maybe. Nothing helped to keep my mind off Christopher. I hoped he came back.

I was standing inside my bathroom, just staring at myself. Noticing every single feature about myself compared to Sherlock Holmes. The same hair color, dark brown, that's obvious. Although mine was clearly straighter than his, hardly any curl. Only because of personal preference and genetics. The same central heterochromia condition. Eyes both green and blue. I never noticed until now. Our noses were similar, and the lips, mine are a bit more filled out like my mothers. The drained complexion. Identically facial structure, a stronger chin than my father. That's good. My body was long, rather tall, thin and "fit". How could Christopher not see it? Everyone else did. Perhaps he didn't want to.

If i looked hard enough i could single myself out and just see Sherlock. His deep deviant smile would flash across the glass. Casting a dark navy blue aura around. I'd be intrigued to see him. That long black coat draping on his body. Looking at me, trying to deduct what little he could about me. Peering down at me with disappointment, my failures to be like. I failed. I wasn't enough. Then i could see my mother. Irene Adler. Her soft features. Convicting eyes. I could almost feel her through the reflection, the warm violet aura constricting me. She heavenly voice whispering me. That beautiful smile. I was my mother's child. I still miss her every now and then when i'm feeling vulnerable. Yeah, she was a terrible person but that heartless women was my mother and i know she enjoyed being my mother.

This is who i was, looking in a mirror i pick apart who i am. Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes. I am, both. Caught in a world of reject.

Suddenly in the corner on the mirror and my eyes i watched a figure appear. The closer it got the more detail poured in. Short in height, hesitant in each step, a broken expression plastered across their face, redness circling their blue eyes.

Christopher.

He stood in the doorway to the bathroom. I didn't not turn to face him, i just watched his reflection in the mirror become more apparent. His face was drained of color, lack of sleep and sunlight. Fear, reality and anger mixed like a melting pot on his face. He wasn't sure how to feel.

"Okay, ...so you are Sherlock's son." He said in a dehydrated pitch

I gave no reply. Just stare at him through the reflection.

"...That doesn't excuse all the horrible things you've done."

I swiftly turned around to him, examining his face with searchable eyes. He tired looking up at me under his lashes but struggled when i locked my vision on him.

"What do you mean?" I replied quickly.

"I went to Mycroft, he told me everything." Christopher shifted his weight, "...You cold hardheartedly killed a federal agent. You shot him in the hea."

My pulse instantly shot up in the matter of milliseconds. My blood ran cold now, goosebump covered my body. A tingling sensation washed over me, that numb feeling. Breathing out my nose become impossible. Oh, God why would Mycroft tell him something like that? I thought we were to never speak about that again.

Mr. Heartly.

"Why'd you do it Roman?" Christopher looked at me sternly.

"He deserved to die." I choked out.

"You aren't the one to determine that."

"Obviously i was."

"What i find funny is all you got was time in a sanitarium. You take a man's life and you spend a year pumped full of Prozac and Suboxone. That's not justice."

"What i did was justice!" I barked at him.

"Murder isn't justice! It's criminal!"

I squeezed a glass plate in hand. Before Christopher i was in my bathroom looking for a medium sized glass plate for an experiment i started to conduct. While searching i got distracted by my reflection.

He looked down, "You used me to replenish your addiction, and here i thought i meant a little more than that to you..."

"You do."

"...Maybe i used you too. An escape from the pain i feel when i think about Julia." I heard him sniffle then wipe his nose on his sleeve.

If only he knew the Julia i do. She was only going to hurt him even more than what he feels right now. She can't be trusted.

"Roman, i'm sorry but i'm quitting. Quitting my work with you and this friendship. You are too much of a danger for me. I don't want to end up like that federal agent."

He turned away, walking away from me. I intently followed behind him.

"You don't even know what danger is!" I said to him.

He stopped dead in his tracts and swiftly flipped around to him. I nearly crashed into him, just coming at a prefect halt. Our chest nearly touched. My eyes narrow down to his tear filled eyes.

"When i look at you i see the biggest threat i've ever come to know. So yes! I know exactly what danger is!"

Before i could comment again he turned back around and continued to walk. Picking up speed. Large, anger steps, trying to get away from. Come back to me.

"You are responsible for a American federal agents death, cold blooded murder. Deportation of your therapist after you made her your slave and you assisted in Trevor's suicide. You let him do all those drugs, even you yourself started abusing. Heroine doesn't spike itself." He started down the stairs. "Stop ruining people's lives because you're unhappy with yours!"

I followed him down the stairs. My heart beating my ear. Sweat pouring out of me. Bearing hearing the word coming out of his mouth. No, no, no. He was leaving. Christopher was really leaving only after he got to say all these cruel things to me. How could he? He just doesn't understand!

We nearly reached the end of the stairs which meant the end of this, all of this. I had to stop him. Say something!

"If you leave you'll be just like all the rest!" I blurted out in desperation.

Christopher reached the last step, almost jumping off it.

Suddenly, he turned around to me bringing a quick, hard, painful hit across my face. My head was thrown to the side and i nearly lost my balance. Once the force left my face i still felt a sting spring across my face.

He slapped me. Christopher slapped me.

His eyes were full of tears as his was shaking with anger. Pure, upsetting, pissed off rage, "If i don't leave i'll end up just like all the rest of them! Dead!"

He hasted to the door, leaving the pain his words and hand on me. A blow to head and gut in the matter of seconds. Christopher ripped open the door and went to go out of it. He stopped, with half his body already out of it, "...Don't worry your secret is safe with me. No one will ever know Sherlock had a son, or a son like you for that matter. Goodbye."

Echoes of the slamming door pounded in my ears. That was it, that was goodbye. He said unforgivable words and he left, never to return again. This was real, Christopher Watson is gone. I lost him. I tried so hard to keep him and i still lost him. I wasn't to protect him and now i was his biggest threat. My God, what have i done?

Bottling up my anger i began to ball my fist, squeezing the glass plate in my fingers. Thinking about Christopher's words the irritation boiled inside me. I gripped the plate harder, he call me a murderer, Mr. Heartly deserved to die after what he did to me. Harder, he blamed me for Ms. Lang's incapability to treat me correctly, harder. I somehow had a hand in Trevor's suicide. I only wanted to help him. Harder. It was all my fault, for everything.

I squeezed the plate as hard as i possibly could before it smashed to pieces in my hand. Cutting deep into my fingers and palm.

Christopher is gone.

"Mr. Adler you're bleeding. Shall i call Mycroft, or a doctor?" Butler Taylor approached me with worry.

I looked down to watch the blood drip, drip, drip, drip down onto the floor. Shattered glass lie to the floor covered in thick dark red blood.

"No. Please don't." My reply was weak.

I slowly opened my hand up, burning pain shot up my arm. More glass fell to the floor. I was like this shattered glass. Christopher broke me to a million pieces. Now i bleed endlessly. I am broken. I can't be fixed. What have i done?

"Murderer."

"You're the biggest threat i've ever came to know."

"I'm quitting this friendship."

"If i don't leave..."

He's gone.

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's not good. Poor Roman... Christopher! That bastard! What happens now? Christopher is gone. Review, follow, favorite please please please. ^^ Chapter 25: The Guidance and The Suspect. Roman isn't taking Christopher's absence very well. He's like a zombie. But when another murder strikes someone comes along to help Roman get back on his feet. Someone who will become very important to him in later chapters. Also, while at the crime scene Roman really shows his true colors and shines, deduction! He finally gives a possible suspect. Who can it be now? Find out when i update again... whenever that may be. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Really, i am sorry for not updating i've been busy and just no motivation. Babysitting humans and pets takes up time. And recently i lost a dear friend of mine. He was shot accidentally by a relative while target practicing. I miss him :/
> 
> If you haven't already, check out a little possible one-shot i wrote called The Man In The Woods. Sherlock is eight while John's character is very complex. Is Sherlock crazy or is John really real? Please read and review! ^.^
> 
> Congrats to Benedict and Sophie on their baby! It's a boy.


	25. The Guidance and The Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Christopher's been gone for some time now. Roman isn't coping very well, all he does is lay in bed and sleep. (I do a pretty good sleep breakdown) Well another murder has occurred but Roman has dropped the case. Who will come to put some pep in Roman's step. Sherlock's 5 minute theory sure does help. So much so Roman gives the name of a possible suspect. Who could it be? -Sorry for errors. I'm having a REAL shitty day. Like all i've done is cry and lay in bed. I thought posting a new chapter may make it better... we will have to see. I'm really struggling with my attention span and motivation.

Chapter 25: The Guidance and The Suspect.

It's like i don't know how to function anymore.

It's only been two months since Christopher left, leaving his cold words behind and i've liquidated to almost nothing. Just a muddle of murky water and raw emotions. Well, what was left i could feel, which by the looks of it was nothing. Nothing, not even my job brought me the enjoyment Christopher did. Cutting people open wasn't fun anymore. It was now merely just a representation of how i feel eternally. Torn apart, laid out for everyone to see. No longer in the human form, dismembered.

Most days i couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed. The turmoil of my suffering would hit hard and my nervous system slowed down. Getting enough energy for walking became very difficult. So hardly any work got done. I was losing business and i couldn't seem to find a fuck to give. The pain was too much, overpowering everything else around me.

I did my best to not think about Christopher the days that came easy. Meaning, i got out of bed and went to work or else i'd lose my job. I loaded myself up with Oxycodone and white wine for my mental pain. It probably wasn't a good idea to mix them together but honestly, i lost my capability to make good decisions. What was a good choice from a bad one? Each one had benefits and coincidences.

Other than that, my basic survival, he was always on my mind. Even when i slept i dreamt about him. His last words deafened all other sound around me; "If i don't leave...". All i could hear was his voice. Beating so loudly in me i swear my eyes rolled in the back of my head.

Christopher's touch. Sometimes i could feel his fingertips glide across my face. Oh how i missed those trivial fingers. His smile, it could light an entire room. What i would do to see him smile again.

For two weeks i had constant withdrawals of his addicting dosage. Unable to sleep or eat. My body rejected anything i tried to do when i wanted to improve it. I came to the conclusion that i don't think it was just the pheromones and sweat. It was his presence. Period. His scent, i couldn't smell it anymore. My blankets only smelt like me. I don't even remember Ms. Lang's departure from me hurting his bad. I thought of her often, yes, but i got over it. She became part of my past.

Without Christopher i was miserable. God. I'm going crazy.

I would give anything to go back to what was before. Before everything went to shit. Christopher and i would go back to working down in the morgue together, hanging out and i would keep admiring him from the distance. Everything before his constant nosing about my life was simple. I was happy. My past was really behind me. I could live my life how i needed to.

The only reason i told him the truth was to be honest because that seemed be what he wanted the most from me. However, the truth of what i had to say was too much for him to handle. And even after he was convened Christopher thought it was best to leave. I was a threat to him. I was going to get him killed but the irony of it all was i only wanted to protect him. No one was there to care for him, risking their life like i would have to protect him. Instead... I lost him.

I miss him.

A couple more weeks passed by and i operated like an aged roller coaster. Still working but not really up to date. I had no other choice. Life wasn't going to wait for me. It kept going by ignoring how i possibly might feel about it. I couldn't live in time that's already passed. Stuck in the past. I couldn't say i was getting better. More like, blocking out my agony became easier to do. Suppressing everything like i do. Numbing myself to nothing. Blocking out the memories of Christopher even though eliminating his voice was very strenuous. It'd pounded in my head until i couldn't hear anything else. The throbbing pain nearly brought me to my knees. I found myself often whispering, "make it stop. Please, make it stop!".

But today was just one of those day. A day I couldn't get out of bed. My body was exhausted by the littlest movement. My skull felt like it was on fire. My brain, tormented. There was no getting out of bed for me today.

Or so i thought.

My body unfolded across a California king sized mattress, covered in messy black cotton sheets. Swaddled in blankets of temporary comfort. Face pressed down into fresh smelling pillows. Clothed with loose pajamas. This was relaxation, this was as close as it got to a break from my restless mind and non energetic body. I could feel my body slowly drift into stages of sleep. I loved sleeping, now that i could actually do it. It was my time away from reality. Away from my troubles.

Everything was warm, dark and silent. The sunlight dared to shadow a peek in my room. The blackness of the bedding and deep curtains burnt out the sun's flames. It kept the room comfortable yet cool. With this there was no need to move for days.

NREM-1 (Non Rapid Eye Movement stage 1) It's the point in which my body feels heavy, warm, and scary enough, paralleled. My muscles are relaxed. My brain active is not necessary slowed but i am detached what is being processed. Think black.

NREM-2 A stage most everyone knows all too well, and a level in which my body is going into a deeper sleep. Often that is the time where i feel like i'm falling, or hear an unpleasant noise that causes me to wake fully again. In my case, first, i hear a loud BANG. Like a gun. It echos, circles around in my head. Then, it's followed up by the well-known falling sensation. Even with that side it is not difficult to fall back into NREM-1.

NREM-3 If i've successfully made it past the first two stages i enter this one. It could also be called the "non-dreaming" dreaming cycle. My brain is able to produce short, plotless dreams. I have yet to actually entered into actual REM (Rapid Eye Movement, just to clarify) sleep. Some calls this the point in which my brain is 'settling in for the night'. It's hard for me to be waken but is still possible. Majority of the time the small dreams are unknown when i wake.

Finally, REM sleep- When I have fully passed all three cycles I'm rewarded with a ninety minute "rest", this repeats itself afterwards. Dreaming, actually more me, most of the time it's nightmares. Of course, they happen to be all about Christopher. Our fight, his words and my haunting oppressed emotions. Sometimes, if i'm lucky, i nightmare about Sherlock. What happens to occurs in those "dreams" are unclear when i wake. I hear him yelling, grabbing me and strangely enough crying? Did i make him cry? I haven't the slightest idea. These are rare. However, even with my age i am still susceptible to night terrors. Without a doubt, those only occur during NREM-3 so it seldom they happen. All i know is i'm almost shot up, like from the dead with fear, pain and sweat. I'm told i am screaming, often talking but not quite making any sense.

And with that unconscious deduction my body sailed off into NREM-2, maybe? It wasn't like i was awake enough to tell the difference. Until, much like my NREM-2 stage i hear a not so loud but startling crash. The falling sensation was not presence but the sound of rushed footsteps were.

"Good morning sunshine!" A voice, common to the ear spoke with a hitch? Cocky.

Alarmed, i jumped up from my light slumber. My eyes, fuzzy and disoriented panicked to search for the intruder. Still, it continued to walk and my vision was slow to catch up.

Once i pinned the voice to the corner of the room by my window i tried to focus in on the body. But sadly, it was just a black silhouette. A male, average English height, stocky built. Their back was turned to me.

Every since i was released from the Ashworth my ability to see auras within people of course still existence but over time seeing them at night or drunk become difficult to do. So seeing this human color put-off wasn't possible.

Just as my eyes were adjusting to the darkness and i was able to pick out details of the man, black coat, shiny dress shoes. Information began to pour in then the figure suddenly opened the thick black curtains letting the blinding sunshine expose my room. Setting ablaze, burning my eyes with glimpses of hell. Oh wait, it still my room just set in brighter lighting.

I fell back into my bed shielding myself from the light.

"Ah!" I yelled as i rubbed my fiery eyes.

"Get up!" The voice spoke again.

I did not reply, just lay there with my face pressed down into the sheets and let my eyes adjust to the abrupt light change. Fuck. Once they stopped hurting i gave a corner glance up to the human waiting on me.

Lestrade.

I sigh deeply, a bit disappointed, "What do you want Greg?" I mumbled out loud enough for him to hear.

"I've tried to call, is your mobile broke?"

"No."

I just have a hard to time reminding myself to charge it. And sometimes i set it in one place for days gathering dust.

"Well it would help if you answered it every once in a while. Anyway there's been another murder. By the look of it it's no different than the others. Noah Rollins was found this morning before noon, inside his home. Getting for work by the looks of it. An auto mechanic and of course twenty-two year old. The second victim of twenty-two."

"Wife, children? Neighbors?"

"No children, neighbors reported nothing out of the ordinary. And the wife… well she recently passed away, cancer."

Just because the wife was out of the picture, that didn't mean a clue. Single victims were normally found in their homes. Of they were married or having a living status with someone else, found dead anywhere else but home. Such as the trainer and the stock broker. Placement usually is key to the crime scene but for a murder who doesn't leave a trace of evidence behind it's ineffectual. Who ever this was had each murder planned out. Choosing victims based on gender and age. That's what is important followed by the missing organ.

With each case everything about the victim's background, personality, and family status changed. Some were single, alone, criminals, poor or rich, married, respected members of the community. The only thing that didn't change were the situation the bodies were found in, the missing vital organ, the gender and age seemed stay consistent until the death of a member from a local famous band. Noah Rollins. He was found in a back alley after a concert. Plastered and tired the band members supposed he went back to the tour bus to sleep. Out of four hundred people no one saw anything. Just another body to add to the file. But there was something different about him, he was twenty-two not twenty-one like all the rest. This auto mechanic made the second one to be twenty-two. Why was the pattern broken?

"Everything's the same?"

"From the missing heart to the blood." Lestrade said with more assured voice any necessary.

"I see, well i've dropped the case. It seems like you have it all under control."

Shocked by the statement Greg's eyes widened and his mouth flew out, "What?! You can't just quit a 14 month case!"

"Yes i can, because i did."

"Why?!" He barked.

I struggled to sit up, my body was so weak, "Crime solving isn't my job Lestrade. By God! When are you ever going to learn i'm just a simple Mortician?"

"You've made more progress on this case than anyone else."

"Oh!" I threw my hand at him in discuss, "All i've provided was obvious facts. A preschooler could do that."

He licked his lips then put his hands on his hips, trying to look in control. About to tell me 'what's what'.

"...Because you're not trying!"

"I'm not trying?!" I raised my voice, "I'm not trying? You've been on my back about this case since day one. Riding my ass over and over again to solve this. I've tried my damnedest just so you'll shut the fuck up and leave me alone! 'I'm not trying' because I DON'T KNOW!"

My temper was starting to bubbling up.

After moments of silence and a second to cool down Lestrade sighed deeply, rubbing his temples, "You can't just give up."

"You've only envisioned me as the next Sherlock Holmes simply because i ran around with Christopher. And i guess that's a fair card to play but you expected from the moment we met i'd be exactly like him. I'd be able to tell you who was responsible from the moment i walked in. Well i'm sorry to disappoint you detective, i am in no way, shape or form like the famous, one-of-a-kind Sherlock. At least i can remember your name."

"Mr. Adler... i could have taken the easy way out months ago and had this case dismissed before supper but i made the choice to give you a chance. I am aware of your current occupation but i know you can still do this. No, you aren't Sherlock and thank God for that. But you hold just as much importance as he does. There's something about you i will not give up on. You are just as good as Sherlock, you just choose you repress it. I can tell you get compared to him often because of Christopher yes and because this world is in dire need of a fresh start. Yes, Sherlock has managed to keep London standing but wounds she bares 'cause the measure taken to protect her are critical. As much as Sherlock could deny it he is just human like the rest of us. One day, ...he will die. Whether it be in good will or his last battle his day will come. Then who will rise to protect London? Evil never sleeps."

"I'm not a superhero." I comment quietly.

"And no one has ever looked at Sherlock as one. We just see him as an ignorant man with a powerful mind."

I fiddled around with my bed sheets at my finger tips. I wasn't really sure how to respond to take his words. My body was to frail to produce any internal reaction.

Lestrade laughed shortly, "Plus, people like you better because you're not Sherlock. A narcissistic-ego filled arrogant, bull headed man who uses too many big words. You're more ...human. You seem to understand things even when you really don't. Sherlock doesn't understand anything. He knows a lot but he doesn't understand it."

This may sound contradicting, but i honestly don't understand why Lestrade kept pressing for me to stay on this case. Even after everything he said i still haven't found anything good to bring to the table.

"Why did you remove Sherlock from the case?" I glanced up at him.

When i thought about Sherlock or the case the question of why Greg suspended him from the was case always popped up. It was for more than just the fact i was to be appointed this case. Fate. Christopher spoke about the time Sherlock went too far and Lestrade kicked him out. What did he do?

"I wanted to give you a chance. "

"You can do better than that."

Lestrade looked at me with a blank stare, "He's no longer welcome at the Scotland Yard. It was only supposed to be temporary." His expression broke, "Then i ran into some articles about you."

"Christopher told me you two had gotten into a miscommunication?"

"Oh, i wouldn't call it a miscommunication. Sherlock knew exactly what he was saying." His tone was a bit sarcastic. However i just continued to star wanting him to say more, "It was personal matters."

"...So you were willing to risk actual human lives all because some sociopath hurt your feelings?"

"No, Mr. Adler. As i said it was only temporary. So yes, as a replacement i called you. Sherlock did no better than you when i gave him five minutes inside the scene. Although he said something about the display. Something about ..uhh" He fumbled his hands around, "It wasn't showing off it was… meant for a particular person or persons to see."

If it was possible to stop time. Press pulse, i would have pressed it. Freezing Lestrade right there in his place.

The idea of the dismay (showing off) was only said half heartedly. The only people to even lay eyes on the body was the poor soul that found it and police. What particular person was supposed to see it? The discoverer? No because just like the consistent pattern of gender and age had nothing to do with the finder. It could have been anyone, family, friends, even clueless construction workers. They break another pattern.

Who was it for?

You only had the consistency of the police but it was a new agent each day. Not one person worked on every single case. Lestrade only intervened during the second case, while Christopher and i came in on the third.

"He's right."

I stood up too fast. All the blood rushing to my head made me dizzy and i almost fell back.

"How?" Lestrade asked helping me up.

I carelessly moved pasted Lestrade to get to my closet in the corner of the room. I ripped open the door and began to shed off my current clothing into my work entire.

"I need to go the crime scene to make sure."

"So you're back on the case?"

"No."

"Why not?" He complained.

I rushed out on the closet trying to loop a belt in my gray slacks, button up my red dress shirt and put on my shoes. Al at the same time.

"I have no interest nor time. I am only going to check Sherlock's theory. Plus i don't have my trusty sidekick."

Trusty sidekick?

I stopped myself in mid action, dropping everything with a confused expression to reassess my words. Trusty sidekick? Why did i say that? Was i referring to Christopher? He wasn't close to being any help to me. The amount of blood and foreplay would make him faint. All he was good for was just company reassurance. He gave the appearance that i wasn't talking to myself and the simple fact i thought better when i was around him. How was i going to do it now? He's gone, i'm on my own. Fuck! I didn't think this through.

"Sidekick? What?" Lestrade was lost as much as i was, "Are you talking about Christopher?"

"I think so."

"Blimey! You get so pissed off about your comparison to Sherlock and here you are throwing yourself under the bus."

"What do you mean?"

"Sherlock will not take a case without John, nor will he show up without him. He acts like he can't operate with him. God, it's maddening."

"Christopher gives me reassurances, plus i can think better." I said in a clear tone.

God, i can't believe i let him go.

"Well do you want me to call him?" He reached in his pocket.

"No!" I said in almost a panic. Slowly, i calmed myself before i went on, "Unless you want another body on your hands."

"What does that mean?"

Completely dodging his question i finished dressing myself. Then i took off out of my room with a sudden gust of energy that i prayed i wouldn't regret.

"Keep up!" I said bouncing down the stairs.

…

By the time Lestrade and i made it to the crime scene the police had left and all that was lingering around was forensics and the mortuary.

The crime scene was placed in a different settling than usual, a countryside home. Of course the neighbors wouldn't noticed anything strange. A thick wood lining separated the two houses. Stepping inside the disturb residence, i carefully scanned the each room. Nothing seemed out of place, knocked over or broken. Approaching the body the musty smell of death danced in the air. Indicating the body was over 24 hours body was still in position, on their back, eyes open, mouth closed, extra.

Male, 22, auto mechanic, recently widowed, his clothes were dirty, not stained dirty, but working dirty. Stale sweat stain were still present. So he was just getting home from work. His chest was undressed so you could see the blood whole in his chest. The heart was gone. The crime took place sometime yesterday evening. Everything was the same.

"Who found the body?" I asked, getting down on bodies level.

"A co worker, apparently they carpool." I heard him sigh, "Everything's the same. Yes. I know."

"Shutup."

I glanced at the blood. I need silence.

A lot less blood than usual, mainly just larges around the body. She's are losing interest. But she's still not willing to leave evidence behind.

From the first victim i knew so much but i held back. Playing detective wasn't my job. It still wasn't.

"I know you're thinking, tell me Mr. Adler." Lestrade said slowly.

I stood up, still glancing down at the body.

I chose my words carefully, "She's bored." I started.

"Bored? How does a serial killer get bored?"

"Men question that about women all the time. But compare this one to the first. Far less blood. She wasn't rushed but she just wanted to get it over with." I took a deep breath, "Sherlock's theory about the display is correct. She's clearly made a mess on purpose."

"But ...she's bored?"

"Yes. The person who this is clearly meant for wasn't noticing her works so she's bored."

"Who is it for?" Lestrade voice was curious.

I pranced around the body. Noticing the poor Y incision and discard of the heart.

"I don't kn..-"

Almost like a light bulb being turned on. A spark to a match, igniting the fires. A bright idea with little communication. I had it. Fighting to almost nothing. Using all the knowledge i had possible, i had it. My God.

I was only two months into practice when the first body came through my morgue doors, and then the second one? I was so ill experienced there was no way in hell i could have received those bodies. It was a government involved case. I wasn't certified enough. ...Someone had to be changing the placement of bodies when they were set to go to the morgue. And because i new to the field she set it to my morgue, it'd be hard for me to know what to look had a better chance to continue. But no, wait, It was someone who knew me. She picked me. But why? The articles written about me? Jealously? Did she feel i was meant for the field? She was testing me.

I stopped breathing. My God.

She wants me to play detective. She wants me to be the one to figure her out. This is a game to her. Each victim was male, all no children. Four of them the same age of me. But now we have a twenty-two year old? Why the change in pattern? ...Oh. I'm twenty-two. Fuck! As i age so do the targets? Their reflection of… me. But these murdered only began after i met Christopher. Could this have anything to do with him? He was present with me on every case. He was just as involved as me. She wanted Christopher involved so i would continue to stay involved. Without him… Sherlock would be running this case. That couldn't happen She knew Sherlock had gotten suspended so i was a second option given my title. This was her game and the display was... meant for me. She wanted me to notice her. But who is she? I only associate myself with very few females.

A bomb hit my chest. It felt like i took a couple steps back before i was forced to breathe again. The amount of females i knew was very limited. But the amount i knew that knew Christopher and i both, one.

"Julia..."

Mycroft had a deepening suspension that Julia was responsible for Maximum's dead. He said 'She's one of the most dangerous people you ever meet, and she doesn't know her potential.' But what is she was well aware of her capabilities? She took Max's life when she knew she couldn't have him. Now, she wouldn't be handling her and Christopher's breakup very well so she wanted to interest him. Try to get him back. He was bored, not her. She knew Christopher was practicing to become a detective. She wants him to love her so she won't have to love him back. Still, at the same time, she wanted me involved because my position in Christopher life. She wanted to bring us together. Recreate… She wanted to recreate John and Sherlock. But… there is no possible way she could know Sherlock was my father. Could she? This is a game to her but it had many rules to it. No Sherlock and limited evidences. Basic but complex. Julia wanted Christopher around me and this was exactly the kind of thing to keep him around. Yet he's not here? She has to know, then what? Does the game just stop? What happens to Christopher, is she going to hurt him? Will she come after me next? Oh, God, i hope not. She had to be stopped.

"Mr. Adler? Are you okay?" A voice faded in and out, "Mr. Adler?"

It felt like i just opened my eyes. Awaking from a deep sleep. Confused, i looked around to make sure i was still at the crime scene. Lestrade was studying me with worry in his eyes. The air was thick, the stench of death. I could not believe what i just formulated.

"Julia… Julia Malone." I hissed out, feeling dizzy. All of energy i obtained earlier was dramatically running low.

"What? Who?"

"...A suspect. Julia Malone."

Lestrade frantically, yet hopeful yelled the name over to the forensics team. Like marching ants the team scrambled in place.

"See, Mr. Adler. I knew you could do it. I had faith in you." He smiled big at me.

I faintly smiled back at him, holding my head. The room was spinning, my eyes were burning. My legs, like sand i grabbed Lestrade's shoulder to help me stand. My voice sounded raspy, like i ran a million miles, "Now... take me home."

-End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Roman thinks Julia is behind all these murders. What do you think? Review, follow, favorite please, please, please. Oh for those of you who do review often or maybe just once, THANK YOU, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Your reviews mean so much to me. They put smiles on my face. I would reply personally to each one but i don't wanna annoy or bother you... thank you though. I even love my followers and favoriters! Anyway, when i update again i thought i'd change it up and write a chapter in Christopher's point of view. Chapter 26: Watson Your Mind a short, not so short look at Christopher's life. How he feel about Roman and leaving. His job. His relationship with his dad, and Julia. She invites him over for a simple diner that turns out not to be so easy. What does Julia have planned? We have some Sherlock and his deductions and father son real talk. (John and Christopher) This chapter will make you emotionally unstable. I love Christopher.
> 
> I'n going on vacation July 6 thought the 11th or 12th to North Dakota, Wyoming and all the states between (kinda a road trip) so no updates then. It's not my ideal vacation but whatever. I just wanna leave home...


	26. Watson Your Mind: The Him and The Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: This chapter is all told through Christopher's point of view. Christopher isn't coping with leaving Roman to well. He's depressed, lazy and moody. We get a better look at him and John's relationship. It's rather rocky. Julia makes an appearance and invites Christopher to a diner that doesn't go over well in the long run but Christopher doesn't complain much. Warning: A bit of heterosexual sexualness. Lastly Christoper and John continue to but heads. Some familiar words are said! 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing in Christopher's point of view so i hope you enjoy it. It's rather long and i've edited the best i could so put on your patience caps and read on. KEEP CALM AND READ ON

Chapter 26: Watson On Your Mind: The Him and The Her.

Have you ever just had one of those days where waking up and seeing the sun, the dramatic light it cast or even knowing the idea about the planet just pisses you off? Could it not just be one day guided only by the glowing moonlight? Complete darkness. Maybe not entirely, my room mainly. Sure, the sun was necessary for the human race to continue. It separated day from night, time, and kept our sanity. But would this world really look any different without the burning candle? Frankly, i believe we don't deserve something as critical as the sun. Yes, even i don't. Why? Because over the years our need for it have decreased dramatically. Think back to the nineteenth century. Well, before the light bulb in 1879 compared to now. My only use for the sun is telling days part and the cycles of seasons. Other than that technology has basically taken the fireballs place. All we do is complain about how it's too bright, too hot, or too damaging (global warming i mean). Well imagine if one day, the sun didn't rise, nor did it set for that matter. With how devoured we are in what's metaphorically 'hot' would we even notice? Artificial light ignites our day. I'd assume with time our vitamin D would bottom out and we'd just die out from national section, or survival of the fittest. Without the sun i'm positive we'd freeze to death too. Or even cooler, we'd all turn on each other and become cannibals because of the disbalance of water in out bodies. Which really all ideas are particularly connect.

But for today, i'm having one of those days where the sun is merely a pesky bug. Make it go away. I don't want to see the light of day for the simple fact that... i just don't. It's 11:47am and i have yet to get out of bed. Thankfully it was the weekend and i didn't have class or i'd be screwed. I could lay in bed all day if i didn't have to work.

I took back my job working at the cafe with mum. I needed the money for school and mum needed the help. I hated the job though. People were always so mean and in a rush. If i got their order wrong they flipped out and became to cuss me out. Powerless, i had to stand there and take the verbal abuse."The customer is always right." and i am always wrong. God, i loathed that job.

I pulled blankets over my head to block out some of the untimely alert clock.

It's been about five months since i quit my last job. Working for Roman Adler at his home morgue. Each day i have to reassess myself on the reasons why i left. Roman Adler was a dangerous man. He did try and inform me of his menacing behaviors but for some damn reason i ignore his warning. It took prying, and digging to find the blatant truth. It started out with the mentioning of Trevor Gallagher, Roman's friend from earlier years in university. Tragically, he died of a drug overdose. I swear, only for a second did the idea of Roman killing him cross my mind. I didn't have to say it, he pulled the words from my mouth, but once he told me the truth all was settled. Still, there was something that wasn't sitting right with me about Roman. From the moment i met him i knew he'd be one of those people; distant, secretive, a darker side than the moon, he spoke very little, only to bark instructions at me, insult anything possible he could about me, prideful, pushed me around, and to hell i let him.

You know, i've spent most of my life trying to perfect the ways that are John Watson. My father, and over the years i think i've done a pretty good job. Even allowing myself to be so submissive to an haughty ascendance man. I was my father's child but fuck, little did i know Roman was his father's child as well. How could i have been so blind?

Roman wasn't the first person to tell me they were the son of Sherlock Holmes. I've heard it many times before and for him to be the real son... that was like Grand Duchess Anastasia resurfacing from the dead after ten years. Mind blowing. Whether that was the real Anastasia or not is still be discussed. However, going to Mycroft for answers i was shocked, It was true, Roman is Sherlock's son. Bramley! How could i have been so dumb? He lived right there in the Woman, Irene Adler's home. Even carrying her last name and on top of that Roman really did look like Sherlock. They had the same intellect, (that's for sure) similar eyes, facial structures, body type, and even the hair. Although, Roman's hair lack the craze cruel and odd shape, instead it was held up in good fashion.

So why did i leave you may ask? It wasn't because he was the son of Sherlock, of course not. Or Irene Adler's either. I disconnected myself from him for the reason that Roman Adler was a dangerous man, a murdered. He killed an American federal agent in cold blood. No motive behind it was found. What i don't understand most is how he was able to get away with it. All he got was a slap on the wrist and a year in the Ashworth asylum. That is not justice. I believe Roman was and is well aware of his actions. He often displayed wild, rash and threatening behaviors. His obsession with the dead is beyond unhealthy for God sakes, he basically sleeps with the bodies under his home. The fall of the House of Usher. Nothing disturbs Roman because it's already crossed his mind and he's learned to deal with it. He looked at his life like a one big nightmare.

Mycroft told me people who got close to him often disappeared, or died. Example being Trevor Gallagher. Again, i don't think he killed him but heroine doesn't spike itself. Roman was itching to cut into bodies, why not your 'best friend'? He could kill again, once a killer, always.

It's a bit unnerving to think about, but i had no idea Roman would be the type of guy to be addicted to sexual pleasure. He was so reserved, hands off, and unemotional. With those cold dead blue eyes, he used me. Use me to get his fix. That, and a verbal abused labourer. I'm such a fool. I should have seen what awful of person Roman Adler was. Maybe i left for more reasons for being hurt, used and betrayed rather than scared.

I kept my eyes tightly shut as i tried to block out the memories of Roman. I needed to move on. I wanted to be a John Watson without a Sherlock Holmes to hurt me so much.

It was going to be a hard day to get out of bed. I knew it. I shouldn't have reviewed so deeply. It only depresses me. Sigh.

I rolled myself into a ball and began to try and go back to sleep. From the distance i heard mild sounded, quickened footsteps coming down the hallway. They thundered louder the closer they got, stopping at my door but that hushed moment only lasted for a second before the door swung open and my father began to yell.

"Christopher! Get up! Your mother needs help at the cafe," He marched in my room, hovering over my bed.

"Ehhh..." Vibrating the pillows i moaned.

I really didn't want to get out of bed today.

"Come on', get up."

I threw the covers off me and remained balled on my bed. Watching my father carefully loop a belt through his pants. Twenty-five or forty-five he didn't look any different. Maybe more wrinkles, slightly grayer hair and packing on a few pounds he was still… movable. He hasn't been in the military in over years but he has yet to break old habits. Waking up early, ordering mum and i to do things. Be ready, be on time. God, was it annoying. A home shaped like a military function without the soldiers. Rarely did he ever practice medical anymore. My mother brought in the "bacon" while he went out and played detective with Sherlock.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Sherlock's."

I could recall a couple times where he told me he was going to Sherlock's and i didn't believe him. He went there all too often for me believe it, or anyone for that matter. Ever since i could remember it's been Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. He was always with him. But as i got older and more aware i stopped believing him.

He and mum aren't the average married couple i noticed. They hardly talked, he wasn't around long enough to talk. They lacked social connection. My mother kept to herself, working at the cafe and treating her on going dysthymic depression. She never looked happy. While he acted like everything was okay. Yet i knew in his head, it was. His lack of presence was because he had someone else. And with that, they were most possibly going to separate after i move out. I'd been preparing for it for many years. We couldn't be a happy family if Sherlock was in the picture and i don't seeing him leaving for a while.

As much resentment i had towards my dad for not being there for mum or me i never blamed Sherlock. Not his fault. It wasn't like he had someone. He was all alone. Just remember i only want me to be the good in my father. Strong, brilliant, wise, important and human. But the first step in going so was noticing the mistake in my father. Then, i could prevent myself from doing the same.

"You can stop calling her Sherlock," I muttered.

I hadn't realized what i said until it was too late. Shit. I hoped he didn't hear me.

"What?" He looked at me.

"Nothing."

I rolled out of bed, struggling to maintain my balance as i stretched my body.

"You shouldn't stay in this room so much. It's starting to smell." My father said as he stood at the door way.

"I study in here."

"Well, if only your grades showed that," he mumbled, "All you do is sleep."

I turned away to roll my eyes and began to pull on my slacks for work. It was too early to hear his constant non-threatening complaints. When i turned back around he wasn't at the door anymore so i finished getting dressed. Black slacks, a baggy white button down and a stupid black tie. I hated ties so much. I did my best to reject the part of the uniform that required me to wear a tie but, of course, i lost.

I slugged down the hall, throwing myself around nearly hitting the walls. I hated this. I was just about out the door before i heard my father yell at me again.

"Get back here! You aren't leaving like that!"

I turned around, sighing rather loud, "Like what?"

"You haven't even combed your hair and your tie isn't tied!" He suddenly grabbed the ends of my tie and pulled me roughly towards him, "...I know you don't like working at the cafe, but it's all you have left since you stopped working for Mr. Adler." He looked up at me, starting to tie my neck-choker, "Until you graduate, which hopefully you will..."

"I will, dad." I glared at him as i interrupted him.

"I'm just saying," He shot back, "be thankful you have a job."

"I am, i'm just tired."

He ran his fingers through my hair a couple times making me feel like a child, like it was my first day of primary school all over again. I was dressed in overly expensive clothes for someone of my youth. Hair flat to my head, expect that one piece, it always seemed to get away. Dissident.

However, my father tried too hard. I don't remember what happened, but my mum told me he didn't leave the school for three hours and he wouldn't have left if they hadn't threaten to call the cops. He was too protective. That was and still is one of my father's major flaws. He was too much of a perfectionist with his children, excuse me ...i mean child. Yet, i wonder if he even noticed his wrong in trying. He didn't want me to make the same mistakes as him growing up. Such as running with the wrong crowd, feeling neglected by my parents, going the military, (not because he shouldn't have but what it does to you afterwards.) or making the decision to settle down too early or too late.

Maybe that's why he pressed me so much about being with Julia. In his eyes no matter what she was perfect. Impeccable for me. As i was growing up perhaps i had a bit of jealously towards Julia and my father. Not because my father treated her better than me or that she was some off brand of "daddy's girl" to him. She was treated like a princess and a couple times i even heard her call him daddy. That word made me cringe when they it out of her mouth. I was jealous because that was supposed to be my late sister's title. My sister was his firstborn and only daughter. Yet, to my father she was so easily replaced with Julia in his eyes. I'm glad i was young when she died. I can't remember and her and i'm thankful for that, it would only add to the distance i have with my father.

Lastly, and one of the most ironic things my father tried to instill in me was not getting involved with someone like Sherlock Holmes. Paradox, isn't it?

Roman.

"How can you be tired? You've slept all day?" He finished my hair.

I sighed annoyed and forced myself to shrug with a faint smile.

"Are you going to be home for supper?" I headed towards the door.

"No, probably not."

Of course, how could i expect anything more?

I'm not sure if i could remember a time my father was around just to be around. Maybe the holidays or special occasions. Solemnly because he usually invited Sherlock over with us. Sure most nights he came home but mum and i were already asleep. We only heard about his day through the radio or the telly.

Sometimes i found it hard just to call him dad.

…

I didn't hate working at the cafe because of the cheap work, or the rude people that came in and out of the shoppe. It's that i had too much time to think. I wasn't allowed to sleep on the job. What did i think about? I tried to think about anything other than Roman Adler. But damn, he always found his way to the front of my brain. I imagine, almost hoped he'd walk through the doors, the quiet bell ringing at his entrance. Then he'd take a seat. I would approach him cautious, like i always do. He'd give me his order. A coffee, black. He hated black coffee, but he wanted to know the art of forcing yourself to liking something. Having that dislike in the beginning protects you. Shields you from the unknown. Roman was different though, he wanted, needed to love what he hated. Maybe that's why i can't understand him. I tried my damnedest to hate him. But hate consumes you and what i hate, or what i think i hate is Roman Adler. And he consumes me.

"Christopher?"

Someone was calling me. I felt their finger's snap in my face.

I shook my head around and fixed my gaze on the voice talking. A very familiar female hovered over me. She was small in size with bony arms. Short. Unnatural purple dyed hair that was forming a mohawk at the tip. Big brown puppy dog sized eyes look at me. A metal piercing hopped around her left nostril. Black clothing covered in hair, a long apron hung around her waist that held scissors, combs and clips.

Julia.

"Hello, Julia." I said slowly, almost to myself.

"What were you staring at?"

"I...i don't know."

She took a seat at the table i was sitting at. I realized I must have been on break.

"What are you doing here?" I asked forcing myself to talk normal with her.

"I wanted to check on you. I haven't returned any of my text in months."

"My phone's shut off."

"Oh? ...why?"

I shook my head, giving a weak shrug.

I couldn't make up an excuse as to why i disconnected my phone because the real reason was so i wouldn't try and contact Roman. It felt so tempted to. Just to say something, anything. I'm sorry? No, for what was i sorry for? Smacking him, maybe. I hate you. Sadly, that was a lie i kept telling myself. One day, i wanted to believe it.

She glared at me, hard, trying to find the answer for herself. I spoke before she could find it, "I'm fine. You don't need to check on me. I'm not your responsibility."

"I know. But i still care about you Christopher. John's telling me you're depressed. All you do is sleep."

Stretching my back on the chair i laughed and rubbed my eyes, "If i'm not out recreating history, i'm depressed."

"What do you mean?" She tilted her head. "The crime flies not running fast enough for you?"

"Something like that."

Her mouth flick up, a smile. She always could lite up a room when she walked in, her beautiful personality or she'd destroyed every hope with her darkness.

"You need to get out more... why don't i cook you dinner?" She implied.

"You don't need to do that. Really."

"I insist! You haven't been over in a while. I got a new cat, you need to meet him!"

"Julia you already have three."

Ever since i met Julia i'd have to guess she's over over thirty cats. Most ran away, died or she had to get rid of cause her grandma was allergic to them. I don't understand why she liked cats so much. They were bitches to be around.

"But he's a rescue. Half his tail was burnt off Christopher." She frowned.

"...Your cats don't seem to like me."

"I wonder why. You've kicked Charlie's teeth in and…"

"Hey! Now that was an accident," I snorted, "I couldn't see. It was dark and I had my mind on other things." I unknowingly flashed a flirty smile at her that she returned back.

"Right! What about that time you pushed Charlie in the kitchen sink? With the water running!"

"He bit me!"

We both began to laugh quietly trying not to disturb customers.

"Only because scared him! How about that time you sat on Hannibal?" Julia giggled to herself.

"I still don't know how you could come up with such a name."

"I know a guy."

I playfully rolled my eyes and sighed, "Right."

"Not all my cats hate you. Nova seems to like you."

"Nova? You mean Big Bitch?"

She busted out a rather loud laugh. We looked around cautiously as people stared, "...Christopher! I told you to stop calling her that!"

"She's huge Julia!"

"I'm aware! She steals Charlies and Hannibal's food."

Our eyes locked as we both let out hushed giggles.

And there it was. That damn numbing in my fingers. The flipping butterflies in my stomach. Those same old feelings i've always had for Julia. She could easily bring them back from the dead. She kept me smiling like a fool and played me like one. It was completely one sided. My emotions were useless to her, to anyone really. All the same i couldn't care less.

I broke our gaze. Straightening myself out physically and mentally. Putting back on my mask. No emotion.

She reached out and grabbed my hand, "Come over next week."

"Julia..." I started.

"It's just dinner. That's it. We can just talk like this. I like it, don't you?"

"Yes. But..."

"But nothing Christopher. You're still my best friend. Have dinner with me?"

I signed deeply, letting all the air out of me before replying. "Fine. Okay. We'll have dinner."

Her face glowed as a large smiling, stretching across her face appeared, "Fantastic!"

God, what i have i gotten myself into?

..

Continue on to part two for more fun!

There i stood, staring at myself in the mirror. Over contemplating my choice of clothing to go over to Julia's. This makes the third time i've changed. I hate that it's taken me over an hour to pick out something to wear. What did it matter? It was just a stupid dinner. There was no reason to dress up. I wanted to force myself to just pull on a old t-shirt and some shorts but that felt trashy. I wanted, needed to look nice. God, Christopher why does it matter? If it's such a hassle then cancel.

After fifteen minutes of self loathing i stuck with a quarter sleeve, form fitting black button-down and my nicest pair of jeans. I added the watch my father gave me last Christmas and spiked the ends of my hair up. Reminded me of a muddy tidal wave. Of course i would take longer than usual to pick out a nice brand of clone. Calvin Klein will have to do.

I grabbed my wallet off my dresser unconsciously opening it. I knew i had money in it for the cab but i still opened it. I thumbed through it, finding a condom i'd left in there from long ago. Now came a mental debate. It had no reason to be in there now. I haven't been sexual active in months. Removing it, knowing nothing could or would happen between Julia and i would be the gentlemen thing to do. But when it came to her i was far from proper and Julia was no lady. Keeping it in there wouldn't hurt anyone. No one had to know i had it.

"Fuck it." I said quietly to myself.

I slammed the wallet shut and shoved it in my back pocket, then proceeded to scan over myself again, and again.

I trotted down the hallway not really paying attention to anything but my thoughts about tonight. My nerves were already killing me. I could mentally feel the sweat drip off of my fingers. Regretfully, I heard my father's laugh in the living room. Then a familiar voice proceed to talk. It wasn't my mother, she was out with friends. Fuck.

"Where are you going?"

I was almost at the door before he noticed me, and i thought i was exceptionally quiet. I turned around slowly facing my father and his guest. Both were comfortable put on the couch. My father held a beer in one hand while his guest held a case file. It was Sherlock.

God dammit! I give up, just give up. I might as well turn around, go back to my room and sleep until he was dead. There was no way i could get out that door without Sherlock deducting everything possible about me. I basically wore my intentions on my sleeve.

"O...out." I coughed out.

"Sherlock where is he going?" John turned to Sherlock trying not to laugh.

I threw my hands up rolling my eyes in aggravation. "Alright, sick the consulting detective on me. Go ahead. Tear me apart," I held my arms open.

"Hmm. Let's see," Sherlock hummed. "A nicely pressed dress shirt. Black, black is always sexy. Slim fitting. Christopher you don't wear tight clothes unless you're going out to see someone. Or at least you hope to see someone of interest. You father use to that. You've chosen to wear a watch just so it make it look like you're a man of business but really you're not interested in the time. You've taken more time to do your hair. The style that says 'i'm not single but there's no one else.' or 'i only fixed my hair so you can mess it up.' so it's a girl. You're going to see a girl. The smell of your cologne," He sniffed the air, "Calvin Klein. A smell to help your game. But that particular cologne you don't wear often so the girl you are going to see gave it to you. A Christmas present. No one gets cologne for their birthday. This girl on the other hand you are nervous to see. Scared of what could happen between you two. You're sweating already and it's not because i'm detecting you. In the back of your mind you're dreading to see this girl because of the unknown and the past. By your failed attempt to look like you didn't try it's a girl that's hurt you. You don't want to look like you need her but you're willing to make it look like you wouldn't mind being hurt again. SO! Given your social profile you don't know very many girls so that girl you are going to see tonight is ...Julia!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose as my father and Sherlock laughed at my complicity. They had to of been drunk or my father would continue to ask questions.

"You're going to Julia's?" My father said when he stopped laughing.

"Yes. Wasn't it clear enough in his deduction?" I cocked, "It's probably a good thing you didn't have children," I looked at Sherlock whose face was expressing a smug look, "Because if you did they'd be killing themselves to get away from you and your stupid deductions."

Have you ever heard of the word mouth-vomit? Saying something you probably really shouldn't have. Well when i said that i knew i shouldn't have, but it was already out of my mouth. Dammit Christopher.

"Christopher!" My father scolded me.

"Yes I know," I sighed, "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

I forced myself to look at Sherlock. He was just looking at me, no emotion. Not hurt, confused or upset. Just examining me. Rubbing his thumb against his index fingers. Roman does that. Normally when he was thinking while gazing intently hard.

I'm thinking about him again. No, fuck no. Stop.

I shook my head a couple times to make the thoughts of him disappear but my brain was more interested in comparing their behaviors.

"...I'm going to go. I'll be home around ten." I grabbed a hold of the door knob.

I ripped the door open, darting outside away from them before i could hear my father's reply.

God, the way Sherlock looked at me i saw nothing but Roman. Or is it when i see Roman, it's Sherlock. Their eyes, deepest blue i've ever seen in a human. The facial structure, damn those cheekbones. Those lips… the perfect shape. Fuck! How could i have been so blind? They were clearly related. Sherlock could go days unresponsive and i just thought Roman was always pissed off. Roman social skills are no better than a neglected dog. He was cruel to people. Tearing them apart with words. Maybe not intelligent, explosive and over average words but they still hurt the same because they sounded the same. Their minds ran almost exactly the same way, expect i could tell Roman kept a lot of it in. He hated being the center of attention, he didn't want anything to think there could be a possible connect between him and Sherlock. He hated his creator, resented him.

I grabbed a cab, hesitating to give Julia's address and not Roman's. I was conditioned to use his address or maybe i was fighting the dying, mind killing urge to go there. Just to see him. It's been almost five months since i've seen him. How was he doing? Was he still alive? He's so reckless. Has Mycroft finally had enough and removed Roman? I hope not.

I looked out the window to try and hallow my thoughts out. I shouldn't be thinking about Roman when i was on my way to Julia's. But God! I couldn't help it. I know he's an arsehole, more than dangerous and just awful all around. I knew better. Even after finding out he killed a man and went to an asylum it drove me closer to him. I wanted to be right beside just to watch him go crazy. Crawl, coil and curl up in a ball knowing that his secret was no longer in his control. I held the key.

...Still,i couldn't never do that to him. I just wanted to know more about him. I felt addicted to him. I had a professional interest in him.

I found myself going upstairs, staring directly at red door in front of me. I must have completely forgot about getting out of the cab and walking to Julia's flat. I was only six steps from the door.

It's been almost a year since Julia and i broke up and even longer since i've been here. because I still felt emotionally raw over Julia's and i breakup and Roman using/lying to me i wanted to turn right back around and go home. I don't want to deal with it.

I stopped. Pausing. My force soon caught up and i nearly fell. I felt my breathing gently speed up. Sweat forming around my head. It was a thousand degrees inside my body. Burning from the inside out.

I don't know if i can do this.

But, before i chance to turn around Julia's door flew open and there she stood at the top holding what looked to be one of her cats.

"Christopher!" She said excitedly, "Come inside!" She waved me on.

I pushed myself up the stairs, trying to fake a smile.

Her flat was abnormally small. As soon as you walked in you were in the living room, she had a small couch and by the looks of it a new telly. It was bigger than her last. Straight ahead it was the kitchen. Honestly the biggest part in the flat. Carrying the normal. Then a short hallway to the side. To your left was her bedroom and the right the bathroom and laundry room. Even though she had three, now four cats her flat didn't smell like cat piss or a litter box. I always smelt a burn vanilla candle, which even if the cats didn't exist i was surprised it smelled so good, the flat was in rather old, poorly made and everything good fall apart in seconds.

Yet, out of everything in her flat all my attention was fixed on her. I don't know what it was but she always looked beautiful, stunning, blood rushing beauty. Black knee high socks, a marble gray high waisted skirt that swayed with each step, exposing parts of her thighs that made my mouth water. And a violet puffy silky dress shirt, showing just a peek at what could be under it. So she dressed up too? I wasn't the only one. By the choice of wear i wondered if she suddenly just as hungry as me.

If there was a way i could compare her to a summer day, I wouldn't. She was nothing like a summer day. Julia was the ice you felt in your veins when you thought of winter. Chilling you to the bone. She was like a early morning frost. Destroying early peekers of spring. She was the thunderstorm you hoped would come in the middle of the night so you could finally sleep. She was the chaos most ran from and the tornado few chased. Her spirit was the color of death, her pride as bright as the summer's day she could never be. The prepossessing women every man wanted, and those who got the chance to love her were frozen in time. Broken to pieces. Yes, i compared my ex girlfriend to Medusa. Her beauty was flawless, golden chocolate hair with unmarked skinned. But like the lustful Poseidon, that was in this case was Maximum, her beauty was taken from her. And not because he died, he stole her innocence. Long dark brown strings traded in for sharp spiked snakes. The common hue of poison. She could kill those who laid eyes on her or, she could smash them, watching them chip piece, by piece. I wouldn't call myself a survivor however. From the moment she could call me hers she plucked at my structure. And here i was now, not quite frozen by her existence but shattered by her doings. I still loved her. I wasn't like the others, i was immune to her treatment. For all that, i'm not sure if i was the only one that saw her like that, feeling that way.

"Hope you're hungry," She turned around me as i pulled a chair out, "i've been taking some culinary classes on the side. I've picked up a lot in just three classes."

"I'm sure it will be good." I smiled at her.

Thankfully we only had to sit in awkward silence for a couple minutes before the food was ready. She laid a white plate covered in dramatic colors. White rice, green spices and what could be chicken? Possibly fish.

"White rice and chicken, covered in a thick turkey broth. Along with steamed vegetables and just a pinch of cloves. Simple, yet packed with favor."

"It looks amazing. Thank you."

"Oh! I got some wine too. I was in a rush so it may not be the tastiest."

She poured two glasses of shallow clear white wine, handing one to me. I smelled it carefully, getting a waft of vinegar, oil and fruit.

"A toast?" She giggled.

Almost simultaneously we raised up glasses.

"To friendship and a long healthy life."

Like a sudden gust of wind, the sound of our glasses tapping reminded me windchimes fluttering around.

Julia was the first to take a drink, holding back a distorted face behind her swallow. She wasn't one more wine.

"...Uhh ...it's strong." She laughed.

I took a sip of the murky wine. First noticing the sour grape, then the thickness in liquid to swallow down. Leaving a predicted oily feeling my mouth. She was right, it was strong. You could compare it to a glass of grape juice mixed with white vinegar. However, in good nature i held a concentrated face, pretending to actually like it.

Moving onto the food, discreetly and hesitantly i put a fork full of the described food to my mouth. Julia watched me attentively. Her big brown eyes filled with hope.

"It's really good." I said finishing chewing.

And it really was. The broth really help give the rice a warm, flavorful taste when it was mixed with the chicken.

"How is Mary? I haven't seen her in awhile." Julia said.

"She's good and so is dad."

"Oh yeah, did you see my new telly when you walked in? John got it for me." She smiled taking another bite.

I turned around, fixing my eyes on the rather large about a forty inch, flat screen telly sitting comfortable on a glass stand.

"He's still spoiling you? I'm starting to really question which one of us is his child. I still have that stoney-broke telly from when i was like thirteen and here you are with a flat of your own and a new telly thanks to papa John." I teased her.

"Ha, well i could believe that if you weren't a spitting image."

"Yeah? You still get more for Christmas than me!"

I've always loved Julia's laugh. It wasn't a loud, an obnoxious laugh or a laugh you laughed at because it sounded funny. It was light, soft and casuistic. So when she laughed i couldn't help but smile, bewitched.

Before i knew it our plates were cleared for the most part, glasses of wine empty and words full of mindless conversation ranging from secondary school to local politics and the weather were gone.

I quickly glanced down at my watch. 8:54pm. Yes, i actually wore the watch to keep time. Not for Sherlock said reason. He wasn't always right. Plus, my phone off so i had a need for it. Everyone likes to know the time. Julia didn't have any clocks handing in her flat. She hated the ticking noise they made.

She returned holding one her cats. It wasn't Hannibal, Big-b… i mean nova or Charlie. This must be the new cat she spoke about at the cafe. It was small, with fluffy cream colored fur and sharp green eyes.

"This must be the rescue you spoke about?" I asked.

"Yes. He's so cute. I haven't figured out name yet," She placed a hand on his head, petting him gently, "I was thinking ...Siger."

Her eyes locked with mine. Trying to maintain her innocent, a cat loving look.

"Maximum's middle name?" I looked away. Fixing my posture.

Julia slowly set the the cat down and it scurried away into her bedroom. She stood a couple inches away from where i was sitting, looking down at me with sentimental eyes.

"...It's been five years Christopher." Her voice was composed and reminding.

I cocked my head to the side, "It's you who's reassuring this time?"

I could feel the tension build, the sensation of the air in the room turning to thick gas. Gas that made you rethink every single word. Your body was heavy, safely planned on the ground. Each word carrying suspense.

"I don't want to forget him."

"Well i do," I said sharply, looking at her. "But you do a good job at not letting me. Five years mean nothing if it always feels like he's still here."

"...He was your best friend."

"Then you'll understand why i think he's better off dead."

She nodded faintly, "I understand..."

Five years of him being dead meant nothing to me. Julia was still searching for him like he just disappeared. She had a hidden hope that he was still alive. She still loved him. Over anyone in her life it's been Maximum who she gave all her love to. And even after he died I was still competing and losing as if he were alive. You don't know what it's like trying to match up with someone who isn't even breathing.

Julia sighed calmly and sat back down in her chair across from me. Trying not to look hurt from my cruel, truthful words.

She began to play with her hair speaking formal with me. "...How's work?"

"Fine. How about you?"

"Busy. My back is killing me by the end of the day."

I nodded as i looked down at my watch. 9:09pm. God, i kinda wanted time to go faster. All that food made me tired and this sudden change in conversation annoyed me. Damn Maximum to hell.

"Sooo!" She smiled, "Is there any juicy detail you can tell about the Jill Ripper case? I've always been a sucker for mysteries."

I was never fond of calling the case Jill The Ripper. It seemed to be a possible fusing point for the killer. Letting them know we had noticed them. Plus, sure Roman had strong accusations about it being a girl but he provided no evidence other than psychological reasons for her killing. He really had no idea what he was doing.

"I'm... not on the case anymore." I said factually.

She blinked, taken back by my announcement. Almost like i offended her, "Oh? Why not?

"Well i...i quite working for Mr. Adler."

"Why?" She leaned forward in her chair.

I knew she was going to play twenty questions with me. She always did, maybe that's where i picked up the inquisitional habit from. So Roman says. I question everything.

I leaned back, folding my arms over the chest and sighed deeply. Taking time to gather my reply, "He… he just wasn't the person i thought he was," I sarcastically snorted to myself, "In fact i hadn't the slightest clue he was who he is."

"What do you mean?"

I focused my eyes on hers. Noticing her deepening interest.

When Roman first told me everything of course i didn't believe him. How could he expect me to? I hesitated going to Mycroft about it. After Maximum's death my father preferred if i no longer had communication with the Holmes other than Sherlock. He didn't consider himself part of the family anyways. But when someone like Roman Adler tells you that you're Sherlock's son it's worth checking into. When i went to Mycroft i was straightforward with it. Simply asking if Roman Adler was the son of Sherlock Holmes. And to my surprise he didn't not pussy-foot around the question he calmly said yes. Then he began to explain why i couldn't continue contact with him. Roman was unstable. He cold bloodily killed an American federal agent when he was seventeenth. All Roman's life he had homicidal behavior. He would lash out on Irene and threaten to kill her. After he came to London he developed an obsession for the death. Mortis. Mycroft said his curiosity of death drove him to kill that agent. Afterwards Roman was suffering from psychotic mental breakdowns and had to be placed in an asylum where he formed a coping method for his murderous behavior. Sex. Mycroft only release him from Ashworth because he causing the institution to fall apart. And according to England Mental Health Classification he was well enough to leave since he was eighteen. His breakdowns stopped and he was 'normal'. The only conditions for his release was therapy. And as Mycroft told me, it didn't go over well. I was just another victim, a living victim. And just like Sherlock, Roman had no emotion. Just a mask of second viewer. It wasn't the problem of Roman being Sherlock's son. It was the pain of how i meant nothing to him. I wasn't even a friend. Just a shot of his addiction. Mycroft said there was nothing i could do to save him. He was helpless. And if i tried to help… he'd kill me.

I promised Roman his secret was safe with me and it was. I hadn't told no one. Especially not my parents. I hated Roman but i wasn't going to be so low to get him killed.

"He's dangerous Julia," She looked at me to continue so i did, carefully, "..He's...a murderer."

I figured it was safe enough to tell Julia that much. The only part i promised to keep was the truth of who Roman was. Not what he's done.

"What? Oh my God. Who'd he kill?" She covered her mouth.

"An American agent. He killed him for no reason. He got away with murder."

Her eyes continue to be wide as her voice sounded like a whisper, "Do you think… he's behind all those murders?"

I shook my head repeatedly, "No. No. I don't..." I paused, thinking, "...No Julia."

Sure the idea of Roman being behind all those murderers would be a mental comfort. Knowing that someone was responsible. But Roman Adler? The Jill Ripper? Impossible. No.

"Are you sure?" She said slowly.

"Yes. Mycroft wouldn't..." I stopped. Looking at Julia with a sudden panicked eyes.

Fuck!

"...Mycroft wouldn't what Christopher?"

I felt my blood run cold and my vocal cords freeze. My mouth felt like i stuffed it with cotton so i wouldn't dare utter another word. My hands were sweaty as i rubbed them against my pants trying to think of a way out. I was saying too much, why do i always do this? I put my foot in my mouth. I think out loud when i shouldn't. Could i trust Julia, if i told her right? I mean it was kinda too late to take it back or say never mind. Julia wouldn't have that. That's just how girls are.

"I'm going to tell you this and you can't tell anyone. Okay?" I said slowly.

"Okay."

"I'm serious. No one."

"Okay, Christopher just tell me." She rolled her eyes.

"Roman is… Sherlock's son."

She leaned back in her chair, raising her brow at me. Reacting just like i did at first, not believing me.

"I know," I held out my hands, "but i went to Mycroft and he confirmed it."

It took her another minute to give into my information. Carrying much doubt in me, "I thought he was… dead." Julia leaned back forward.

"Me too. You can't tell me you don't see the resemblance."

"I do but..." She puckered her lips, looking around, "Well. Does Sherlock know?"

"No. He can't or Roman will be killed."

"Why?"

"I don't know Julia. Just don't tell anyone."

She nodded at me, giving a half smile, "I won't."

She said nothing more, just stare at me with a weak smile. Her big brown eyes blinking. Something about made me uncomfortable, yet, strangely aroused. Those eyes made you want to chase her. Catch her, own her. But at the same time they looked hollow. Completely empty, soulless. Black eyes. Her expressions only mocked me.

I shift in my chair, glancing down at my watch again. 9:27pm. I told my father i'd be home about ten so it about time to leave. The last i needed was to be locked out. My father would do it to. He has before and i've ended up staying at Sherlock's. Probably not the best place to sleep but i had no where else to go. Anyway, I stopped leaving my window unlocked. Not because Roman told me too. Well, maybe.

"Thank you again for the dinner it was delicious," I smiled politely at her as i stood up, "But i need to get home. Do you mind i use your bathroom first?"

"Go ahead."

I made my way down the cramped hallway, turning left like planned. Shutting the door behind me. For some reason i took a moment to pulse, breathe and gather myself before looking in the mirror. Focusing on my eyes, man, no matter how much i slept i looked awful. My eyes looked sunken in and dark. I was discolored in the pigment, may be put on a few pounds in the last couple months. I really needed to get back in shape. I just haven't got the time.

It wasn't like being around Julia stressed me out, no, more like i could help but struggled to contain myself or my hormones. I was either extremely angry with her, spit in her face and smash her skull off the floor or i would want to hold her, kiss her, fuck her. God. Looking at her made me a mess. I just needed to go home.

After washing my hands i took one last look in the reflection staring at me. Among everything everything else around me all i saw was disappointment.

Walking out of the bathroom and making my trip down the hallway i felt the atmosphere changed. It wasn't a familiar yet uncomfortable feeling anymore, it now changed to a thick, heavy ambience that made your clothes press to gravity. When i looked up from my feet i was exposed to something new. And i'm not sure if i was just seeing what i wanted to or it was really happening. Julia. She was sitting on the counter. Her legs crossed over one another, creating a shimmering look as the light reflected off of them when she bounced her top leg, damn. Her back arched, making her chest stick out and her top seemed to almost fall off of her shoulder. Her eyes were dead set on me, with thick pink lips puff in a ball. If looks could kill by God, i'm a victim.

"Wha..."

"I know you are pretty upset about Mr. Adler's truth. I don't blame you. When i look into your eyes i can see the pain. And i know you've never been to good at verbally expressing your feeling so i'm asking you to show me," Julia said in a flirtatious voice, interrupting me, "Come here."

There was no way my body could move at this second. My legs locked up, not letting me move. Inside, my body temperature rose to extreme temperatures. My organs melted to clumpy liquid and my brain turned short circuited because of the massive water damage. My airways flooded with useless words. Small croaking noises slipped from my mouth.

"Christopher." She moaned out, waving her index finger towards me.

Like many drunken steps i stumbled towards her, my arms struggled to stay at my side as i got closer to her. It was like i turned on autopilot but my danger levels were extremely high, i could crash at any second. Before i knew it i was right in front of her. My heart beating crazy in my ear like a marching band. All of my blood circulating down from my brain, leaving it dry. I can't think straight.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me in closer to her. Between her legs, they're hot with my nervous thighs shaking them. Julia's eyes haven't left mine. Her stare pieces my soul, i'm falling apart.

"Show me."

"Julia i… i'll hurt you," I stuttered.

She suddenly grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me to her, our lips centimeters from each other. I could feel her breath on my lower lip, "Then please hurt me Christopher."

God, i just wanted to explode. This wasn't real, it wasn't happening. I'm still in the bathroom mentally collecting myself. I'm hallucinating. My mind was playing tricks on me. But... when i looked into her eyes seeing the growing lust i couldn't just help but feel a sense of reality. A hope that it was real.

Fuck it! Fuck my morals, fuck my reputation, fuck my past with Julia, fuck her manipulating ways and fuck Roman Adler!

My limbs moved quicker than my understanding as i found my hands pulling on Julia and my lips smashed against her struggling to breath normally. As i ravished her she returned the motion back by pulling on my clothes. Slipping high pitched moans between kisses. Fuck she's fantastic.

I was more than likely to regret this but i'd regret not doing it at all more.

…

That night i didn't get home until sometime after twelve. Even though it wasn't like it mattered, my father wasn't home, somewhere with Sherlock i assume)and my mother fell asleep on the couch watching late night programming. She didn't even hear me come in. There was no way she could after downing a bottle of wine.

Even more so, after that night Julia did not come back to the cafe nor try to get in contact with me. One night of weakness i used my mother's mobile to call her, no answer. It was just as a figured. A one night stand and nothing more. So yes i regretted it, i hated myself more than i hated her. The whole time of our fornication i wanted to think of her, damn i tried but that damn mortician kept popping in my head. And the more i thought of him the angrier i got and the louder she got. God, i still don't know how i didn't hurt or break Julia.

It's been far too long since my father was last home for dinner. He had a habit of disappearing around four and not return home until late. Supper was really the only time we talked as a family. Sure dad was home for a little bit, but he normally watched telly, sleep or talk to mum. He barely talked to me, more like boss me around and dog on me about my future. So dinner was the perfect way to communicate and i'm not even hungry.

"Your mother told me you didn't get in until late when you went to Julia's for dinner. Why's that?" My father said more focused on cutting his steak than me.

"We were talking." I picked at my food.

"Talking? About what?"

"Anything and everything. Just catching up."

"Are you two back together?" My dad looked at me with his aging eyes.

I sighed, "No dad. We haven't even talk again since that night. She won't answer her mobile."

"I just talked to her a couple days ago. She needed some money to go see a friend in France."

"You just bought her a new telly," I remind him.

"I know. Christopher she doesn't make a lot of money."

"She doesn't even watch telly!" I sighed rolling my eyes.

"With a broke one of course she wouldn't."

Julia came before me. She always did. They wanted the best for her over me. Blood wasn't the question. It was gender. They were broken when i my sister died so when Julia came into the picture she's all that mattered. They spoiled her rotten, giving her whatever she asked for while i practically begged for what i needed.

"You should really try and work things out. She's a sweet." My mum implies.

Okay, this is what i don't understand. When Julia was little my mother was good at treating us equal, unlike my father. But i knew Julia meant something special to her 'cause she always wanted a girl. She was my mum's pride and joy. However, when Julia reached teenage hood and she got into all that trouble and 'grew up' she became a threat to my mum. It's dumb i know, to think my father would go after someone my age but to my mother it was possible. Sadly, there was a couple times i thought it myself. My father gave into her so easy, never punished her for her behaviors. If i so much as got detention i had to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush or run until i puked my guts out. It wasn't fair. If she got arrested he was there to pick her up. If she had a bad trip on drugs my father ran through hell to find her. She stuck closer to him than me or even Maximum. That was a surprise. They'd go on overnight trips together, he'd take her shopping and shower her in love. This all infuriated my mother. I remember many nights hearing them fight about how he treats her and the reparations. He's going to pay for spoiling her.

"She cheated on me. Need i remind you again." My nerves were twitching as i tried to keep a low tone.

"She's always been a wild one. You need to tame her." My father said taking a drink of his beer.

"Right."

It went back to the sound of clinking plates and forks, quiet chewing, avoiding stares. God, i hated dinner time. I haven't hardly even touched my food.

"How is school?" My father asked.

"Fine."

"Fine? So you are doing well?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's funny. I ran into one of your forensics professors today, they said you haven't showed up to class in almost two weeks," I could feel his thickening stares down on me. I remain silent, "You're failing Christopher. She said you'd have to pull a miracle out of your ass to pass the class. Finals are next week!"

"That's just one class dad." I implied.

"One class? Are you sure?" He disappointingly smiled at me. I'm not sure how parents do that smile thing but be upset.

"Yes, jeezs."

"You need to get your grades up. I know you can do better than that. You were a honors student in school. Your mother and i have busted our asses off to help you get through school. I will not allow you fail out of college."

"But you let Julia?" I looked at him sternly.

"She's not my child and her situation is different. You wanted to be a forensic detective so you are going to stick with it. Julia couldn't handle the stress of nursing. It's not for everyone."

"But it is for me?"

"If you fail out of your classes you don't have much of a choice. You aren't applying yourself. All you do is lay in that damn room and sleep. You barely even come to work. You know your mother needs help."

I clenched my fits and grinded my teeth together holding back my words. Bottling them up in my stomach. I just wish he'd shutup.

"Your lucky to even have a job just handed to you. The work isn't hard nor is it time consuming. I know you don't like it but you quit your job with Mr. Adler so this is all you have left. Suck it up," He leaned in at me, trying to look in my eyes. "You lazy. You don't want make your life better, just harder. First you won't work out a meaningless problem with the only girl you've ever loved all because of your pride. I'm sorry Christopher she's as good as it gets. Then you won't try in university. I gave you freedom to major in whatever you wanted, you can't even handle blood and that a big part of it, it was only by the grace of God you got through basic training. Christopher i don't how you are doing it. You've barely gotten by and quite frankly i don't think you deserve a diploma if you aren't willing to work for it. Finally, work. You're lazy and just the money handed to you. Well i'm sorry to inform you; it doesn't work that way. If you hate the cafe so much best be going out and getting some interviews. With your motivation i can't say you'll hire you."

My angry was exploding like a volcano, gushing out the feeling. I did my best to contain the lava. Hold it inplace, control myself by swallowing my words, grinding my fingernails into my palms as i squeezed them. Breathing out black smoke as the angry melted my insides. I couldn't hand much more of his criticism. I wasn't about to burst.

"Oh! You need to fix your mobile. I'm tired of not being able to text you if i there is an emergency. And tomorrow you better go to school or..."

That was it. Explosion. Melt down. Over the edge. Madness!

I slammed my fits down on the kitchen table as hard as i could and kept my head low, "SHUTUP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP! I KNOW WHAT I NEED TO FUCKING DO AND I'LL FUCKING DO IT JUST GET OFF MY DAMN BACK! ...JESUS CHRIST!" I demanded.

The room broke, shattered into pieces. The silent air was thick as it cooled my vexation. But as i came down from my maddening high i realized, i fucked up.

I wasn't looking at them, no, i couldn't. I knew they were glaring at me. My mother's face was shocked, scared and hurt. I'd never in my life used such foul language around her. Now my father, terrifying as it was he probably was boiling with anger, disappointment and confusion. If he was allowed, he'd drill me in the face. And who would stop him? I went over the top.

"I...i'm sorry." I whispered as i throw myself out of my chair and down into the hallway.

I waited for a twenty minutes listening for the sound of my father's foot steps to pound down the hallway like a raging storm about to hit. I knew i fucked up and i was going to pay for it by endless shouts that rained out of my father's mouth. My refute was pointless now.

Almost like it was on cue. Dad came marching down the hall, booming thunder under his weight. My bedroom shook the closer he got. Once he turned the corner to enter my room my body began to shake as well.

Fuck, here it comes.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER THAT YOUR SISTER DIED, BECAUSE ALL I'VE DONE IS RAISE A LITTLE GIRL! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"I KNOW! I'm sorry!" I yelped back.

"Ever since you stopped working for Mr. Adler you've been an emotional train wreck! Depressed, aggressive, distant and a complete arsehole to everyone around you! What happened Christopher?"

"Nothing…"

"Don't give me that! What happened between you two?"

I squeezed my fits and turned my head away trying to hold back my emotion. I don't want to talk about this. Fuck.

"Nothing… he just wasn't the person i thought… he was." I huffed out.

He put his hands on his hips, "What do you mean?"

I wanted to avoid as much communication about Roman as i could. I may have made a mistake by telling Julia i couldn't do the same with my own father. That was risking too much.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay? You can't understand."

His tension settled down as he lowered his tone, "Christopher, people will never be how you expect them to be. Everyone has a past. Some darker than others. Still, they try their damnedest to escape it but sometimes, it catches up with them while we just happen to be in the middle of the resurfacing. There, we have the choice to stick it out with them, love unconditionally or we can walk away. However... we have to be man enough to own up to the mistake if the choice we made was the wrong one."

The words he spoke sounded like the answers i'd been avoid ever since i left Roman's house for good. The truth. I made the choice to leave because Mycroft claim he was dangerous, evil and bound to get me kill or kill me himself. He was a mad man, a killer. Or at least that's what everyone else saw. When i looked at Roman Adler i saw an empty man just waiting for the perfect moment, the right person to fill him up. I see a broke soul who lost their way on the road to normalcy. He's scared to be alone but even scarier to let someone in. I can tell you what i don't see, there doesn't appear to be a evil man, nor a killer even if he did take a life. Dangerous? To himself before others. I gave up a man who was just trying to do what i tried to do with Julia. Protect her, cherish her, praise her existence. Even if Roman did it in a backward heartless sense.

"Christopher, we'll all done things we regret and some of those things we shouldn't be forgiven for, shouldn't be loved for. But someone comes by and ignores our trespasses."

I was wrong. I shouldn't have left. Nor should i have punished him for telling me the truth for once even if i didn't like it. He was Sherlock Holmes's son. It's unbelievable, i know but it's real. I accomplished succeeding my father. I was just like him when it came to Sherlock. I can't stay away.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at supper. I'll apologize to mother later for my language." I said shamefully.

"Good. Do the dishes too."

It took a minute for him to realize i was finished talking. I just sat there, my hands in lap, head hung low and pride crushed to pieces. Saying nothing. Once he caught on he dismissed himself from my room, closing the door. Thank God.

Almost like instantly, i folded over to my side and curled into a ball. Gazing blankly into the space around me, in front of me. Clearing my mind of all thought. Well, i tried too, but the stabbing feeling that i was wrong about Roman. He was not crazy nor a murderer. I clenched at my mistake, feeling fiery tears build in my eyes. I coiled myself in deeper, feeling the crying sensation mixed with a mental pain. It hurt, God it hurt. This hurt.

Unlike Julia, now a days Roman for some stupid reason was all that i thought about most days, all i put my emotions into. I wanted to be around him, i need to be. I missed him. Fuck, how i miss him. I miss everything.

I was wrong.

I'm sorry.

Forgive me.

I miss you.

-End.

The end was a bit ironic huh? John telling his own son basically what he told Mary after finding out she's an assassin! Sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end was a bit ironic huh? John telling his own son basically what he told Mary after finding out she's an assassin! Sorta. Poor Christopher, he just can't get it together. He misses Roman so much. But will he come back? Julia people! What do you think of Julia!?! Review, Follow, Favorite people! PLEASE! ^.^ Back to Roman on Chapter 27: The Home and The Return. I can't give you a summary... I'm sorry. I can say Roman may or may not be leaving London... for good. So until next time people! OH! And there will be 3 more chapters told through Christopher's point of view so be ready! 
> 
> Hey! Check out of new story i've only published the prologue but go read it! It's called Outcasts! Summary: John Watson is a young spoiled prince who is soon to be the King of England. One problem, he doesn't want to. Sherlock is a intelligent common man who had other intentions being on the boat that night John tried to jump. In a twist of fate they both fall off the boat and becomes stranded on an island for three years. Their time together changes each other forever. Johnlock.


	27. Chapter 27: The Home and The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Summary: Roman has made a decision to leave England. For good. Of course, Mycroft objects this idea but it's not going to stop Roman. One night when he is packing a strange knock disrupts his current distraction. Roman swears it's all a dream but never in a million of years would he dream of such words uttered out the month of the very man who torn him down.
> 
> Fair Warning: BOYXBOY, super awkward smut.
> 
> Note: I'm sorry it's been forever since i've updated. I've been super busy with working two jobs, getting ready for school in a week and emotionally have mental breakdowns when i'm not doing either of those things. Things for me have honestly been tough. I'm trying to keep it together. I don't have the concentration leave to write for more than 10 minutes and i just sit there and stare at the screen. BUT enjoy, shitty editing i'm sorry.

Chapter 27: The Home and The Return.

"Hello?"

"Mycroft, i need a visa."

"To where?"

"America."

"For what reason?"

"I'm going home."

"Mr. Adler, you are home."

"London isn't my home. This house isn't a home. I don't belong here."

There was a short pulse coming from the other side.

"Roman, i sincerely recommend you reconsider."

"I'm a prisoner. If you object my request it's not going to stop me from leaving."

"...How soon do you need the visa?"

"Friday."

A long sigh piled through the phone, "Okay, i'll see what i can do."

The sound of a click ended the phone call.

I'm going home.

I'd given London five years of my life. Five long, grueling, painful, and deceitful years of my life that i will never get back. And for what? I lost my mother, part of my sanity, my friends, my importance and the utmost respect i carried towards my father. I've lost more than i've gained coming to England. What i did gain though was riches, a forever education, a job i actually enjoyed, experiences and an addiction i couldn't escape. So if you ask me, it wasn't fucking worth it. I never asked for this. If i had it my way to do all over again i would have picked a foster home. None of this would have happened. Being completely oblivious to the other side of my life sounded much better than the hell of reality i was living in. I constantly wouldn't feel so low, left out, and replaceable. Maybe i wouldn't have lost so much.

Now, I just want to go home. The place i have always called home; my house back in America. The home i grew up in with my mother. I was alone, safe, blind, a child. I want to go back to that world. The world i belong to.

I called a real estate agent about the house. They said it was mine to do with as i pleased, but the condition was poor and would need major reconstruction to be livable again. In the meantime, i could resident in a hotel or temporary apartment. It was my chance to start over. It would be easy to get a job or even to start my own business.

It did cross my mind how i planned to live out the rest of my life. And by that i mean with who rather how. Getting a couple dogs and cats crossed my mind before i even dared thought about with another person. It was a terrifying idea but not one i'd entirely object either. I hated being alone for excessive periods of time. I become hazardous to himself, almost suicidal. So having someone around was for the best. I'm only twenty-three i have a couple years before i decide to get into anything serious. I'm not one for labeled commitment.

But… i would miss some things here in London. Not England itself, but the people inside it. Adalynn, she was like the little sister i never wanted and since her real older brother was dead i felt more obligated to be that brotherly figure. She was the sunshine after a stormy rain. Adalynn always knew how to make me smile and piss me off beyond measures. Then there was Mycroft. I guess, on a day of reflectance i would miss him. If it wasn't for him i could be dead right now. I owed him so much, nothing i could do would repay what he's done for me. He saved from repeating my parents mistakes and protected me from the pain typically life would throw at you. I was sheltered. Mycroft was the closest to my father i would ever be and that was okay. I liked him better. Sometimes, i wished he was my father. All this abandonment and confusion would disappear. And lastly, as much as i tried to block him out, forget about, there was no erasing Christopher Watson. Out of every person, i've ever met he'd was the one to leave the deepest memory. I miss him every day, but it was time for me go on with my life. There was no sense in waiting on someone who's not come back. I've been waiting for six months. He's not coming back. Not this time.

As disappointed as Lestrade was that i still dropped the Jill Ripper case, I could tell really let him down. He had high hopes that i would continue with the case even though Julia check out. Her alibis were feasible, she wasn't even present in England during two of them. She was in France with relatives. After that, i was lost, i had no idea who could be behind those murders. Julia seemed to be a likely source. So without much shame, i gave up the case, returned it back to the Scotland Yard. Maybe he would finally get over his pride and let John and Sherlock back on the case. He's only risking who knows how many more lives. I'm not sure if i could call him selfish or a mad man.

…

I was due to move in less than a week and only half of my things i planned to take with me was actually in boxes waiting to be shipped over to America. Of course, i wasn't taking much with me considering i wanted to leave as much of this life behind as i possibly could.

It was sometime past midnight and i was wide awake in my study listening to the dying sounds of a summer storm while packing. This room would take me the longest given i had mountains of books i'd purchased or written but never published, and i never would. Some were simple essays over environmental decay, the human rotting process, theories on evolution and the cosmos. Digging deep into some of the shelves i noticed some uncovered diaries i wrote during my time in Ashworth and my first year living here in London. I would burn those once i had the opportunity to do so. I couldn't risk someone stumbling upon these even though the outer covers were duly unmarked or had VOLUME; I, II, III, IV or V on them. I was moving on.

I stood on a stool from the kitchen to reach the top shelf of books. I carefully and slowly took a book out of its spot, dusted it off and determined whether or not to keep it. If i didn't want it i returned it back to its place. Quite frankly, i was leaving over half of what i owned here. I didn't need it. My house in America was way smaller than this so i had no choice but to downsize.

Also at the same time i opened my university essay on The Study of Mankind by Anthropology i heard a faint, yet meaningful knock coming from outside. Tonight, for some reason, I left my study room door open which was right next to the front door. Everything in the house but my packing was silent. Confused, i peeked down at my watch as it read 1:13 am. I glanced over my shoulder to look at my front door, the porch light had kicked on so i knew it wasn't in my head. "It's one am, it can't be anything important." I thought but as soon as i finished that i corrected my thought; "...it's one am, it has to be important." Reluctantly i climbed down from my stool and did my best to look presentable but not overly aware of their presence by tieing up my robe to hide my two-day old clothes. I shuffled/drug my feet over to the door as i rubbed my hand against my unshaven face. God, i look like the local slob. Shameful.

Discreetly i approached my front door, trying to hard to know who was on the other side before opening the door. I took one last mental collections of myself then cautiously exposed myself to the other side. The smell of fresh rain ran up into my noise and i could still hear light showers hit off the roof.

The dimming porch light casted a yellow tent on the small man standing at my door, it blocked out the color of his aura. He was shorter than i and wore soaking wet clothes. A faded tan rain coat failed to it's job at keeping him dry. His head hung low with his hair pressed to his face. The longer i looked this waterlogged human slowly his identity was coming to me. I knew him.

He spoke, which interrupted my thinking; "I miss you."

And matching the saddened pitch of his voice and lack of aura i knew this saturated man was Christopher. He was standing in front of me dripping wet.

Every ounce of air left my lungs and i gripped the edge of the door to gain my air back. This wasn't happening, i fell asleep while packing and this is just one of those panic attack inducing dreams i have. My heart sped up in pumps quicker than my body could handle. Is it really him?

"I...I miss you too." My voice broke in disbelief.

I had no clue where i got the vocals to speak but it hurt to utter such words. Not that it was a lie, no, i just didn't want to admit it, not out loud. Motionless. I couldn't be breathing.

In a moment of panic and realization of his condition i hesitantly pulled him inside to me, closing the door behind him, helplessly analyzing his state. It was the end of August and the weather in London played a game of being hotter than hell or just a degree below freezing. Christopher was just barely shaking so i knew it what day it was.

Almost jogging, i hiked to my private bathroom in the study and grabbed a clean towel. On the way back i heard my heartbeat in my ear endlessly. Calm down. When i returned Christopher did not move from the spot i left him at. A pool of water began to form around him. I placed the towel on his head, shuffling it around.

"I'm sorry." Christopher's started, "Forgive me. Pl...please."

I kept drying his hair off the best i could, ignoring him the best i could. I can't say anything.

He looked up at me from his continued hanging head with red eyes and a quivering lip. There was still drops of rain on his face but i knew he was crying.

"Roman i'm sorry. I'm so sorry. ...I shouldn't have said those mean things to you."

I held a blank stare at him for only a second then started to rub the rain off his face, covering his heart breaking expression. I couldn't barely to look at him.

I didn't hate Christopher, i wouldn't no matter what but his voice often resurfaced and cut me open like day one. "You're dangerous.", "If i do stay i'll end up like the others, dead!", "Murderer!". It was hard to push past those words coming from someone that meant so much to you. Right now, i couldn't say anything along the lines of it's okay or i forgive you. There wasn't enough sympathy in my body to do so.

"You couldn't have taken a fucking cab to get here? You're going to get sick," I muttered as i began to unbutton his baggy rain coat, "What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry." He huffed out as strong as he could.

I peeled the soggy material from his body and let it slap onto the floor. With a loss cause because the towel was too wet i still tried to dry him off, my mental strength depleting. His broken spirit, countless tears and need for reassurance was tearing down my wall of disappointment and detachment.

Suddenly i felt two damp arms wrap tightly around my waist, burying himself into me as much as he could to hide the muffle sounds of his wailing cries leaking out.

"I'm...i'm sorry Roman. These past six months have been a complete hell ...without you. I missed you so much… some days it made me psychically sick. I would have came back sooner but… but... i… i." He squeezed me again, letting out held back tears.

"Shh." I whispered to calm him.

I allowed him to cry for a moment more than i removed both his arms from my now damp robe to lead him towards the steps. Christopher followed closely behind interlocking my hand in his moist, cold fingers. Every second he wasn't touching me his world was falling apart even more.

Taking each step slow, occasionally looking back to check on Christopher, my mind raced in several directions of what was going to happen next, and why. Christopher's fingers were ice cold and they trembled against mine. He needed to get out of his wet clothes, he needs proper warmth.

No matter what he did i promised to protect him. I plan to keep my promise.

I opened the door to my bedroom and gave Christopher permission to go first. Once he hesitantly walked through, doing his best not to keep his swollen eyes off me for more than necessary when i shut the door. We were cut off from the rest of the world, in our own little world of pain, desires and memories. It was just him and i. Alone, together for the first time in six months.

I took a step towards Christopher, locking my eyes on him. His face was caught between afraid and helpless. His body shook, shivered, trembled. For some reason i had a secret feeling of pleasure looking him be so defenseless, so hurt, so innocent. Just like the first time he came back, i was in control. I determined his gravitational pull. He wanted to me own him.

I found myself touching Christopher's face, leaning in for a much wanted kiss. His lips were cold yet dry. Just as i remembered, they effortlessly gave into my mission to lead. Weakly and ever so often they trailed over mine then retreated back down. God, i miss him. I really did. With one hand i untied my robe and wiggled it off me, careful not break our ever so fancied kiss. But when my fingers crawled under Christopher's shirt to remove, it broke. Only for a second and Christopher let out a frail pout until our lips reunited again, deeper in motion. Passion. I felt his tongue glide against my bottom lip.

I missed him, not just his existence but the taste of his lips, the touch of his goosebumped skin when i just barely laid a finger on him, the sound of his voice as it breathlessly called for me. His eyes filled with allure when he looked at me. I miss everything.

I pushed myself against him, causing him to walk backwards. While doing so i unbuttoned his pants, letting them hang on his waist as i worked on taking off my shirt.

"Get on the bed," I said doing my best to put it softly.

Christopher nodded and crawled up onto the bed, taking at his spot at the center of my unmade, messy, blanket tossed bed. He continued to strip off his pants and boxers. By the time he finished i was removing my own boxers to take my place on top of him between his legs, bringing a wave of thick blankets over top us. Blocking out every noise, color and distraction around us.

Immediately Christopher wrapped his a shaking limbs around me and guided me through the darkness to find his lips again. His body shook uncontrollably under me, i did my best to erase the space between us. My dry, warm body against his moist, icey skin. It burned to lay on my stomach on his, it was so cold. Our body temperatures melted together causing the air to rise. I was started to sweat while Christopher was only getting warm again.

"God, I miss you." I muttered breaking our kiss.

"I miss you too," Christopher pouted, "i'm sorry i left."

Even laying under these blankets, mashed against each other, stark naked Christopher continued to cry. I could hear him strain not to snuffle. It was agony to hear but even worse if i had to watch it so i kept my head buried into his neck and shoulder embracing him tightly if our lips weren't touching. Please stop crying.

"I need you Roman. Please." He huffed, "Inside me."

Like a dog hearing a ungodly pitch my ears perked up. I picked up my head and looked at Christopher, searching through his tear covered eyes for what he really meant. My mind read his words over and over in my brain. Maybe i heard him wrong. I was hearing what i wanted to hear.

"What?"

Christopher moved the sweating hair from my eyes, making my vision clearer to see him. He saw my widen, hunting and surprised eyes gazing down at him. He sniffled and forced his sweetest smile,"I know you've missed it. I have as well."

"I can't." I whispered.

It wasn't fair. He didn't understand, no one did. I was addicted to him, Christopher Watson. A slave to everything about him. I can't just have a hit and that's it. No, it was necessary and each time i had to go without it too much was taken out of me. I can't. I don't want to withdraw back into the sleepless and lonely nights. But God! It felt amazing. I had to have it. Every time i was forced to go back into remission it felt like someone was holding me under water. Ice cold water with spikes at the bottom. I don't know how to swim, yet i can't drown. Slowly, I suffocated myself in substitutions and medications. My pours opened up and as water seeped in a tingling sensation would take over me. I couldn't feel, move or breathe. The pain was dull, low toned but it was always there. Unable to concrete, my mind raced. Sick to my stomach, i won't eat. My hands shake like i'm cannibalistic because all i want to do is devour my addiction. I had to have him, not once, but everyday.

That's what it felt like to recover from Christopher Watson.

"Christopher… i'm addicted to you. You don't," I said with much embarrassment.

"I'm addicted to you too."

He gave me a one sided kiss and since i spent so long longing for his lips again I kissed back. Eventually one kiss turned into two, then three, four, five until we ended up in an casual exclusive, tongue play. Nothing wild, messy, or unclassy. It was slow, meaningful as they wrapped around each other embracing from the time apart. He tasted liked coffee, i missed his taste all too much.

My fingers attentively and watchfully trailed over his chest. Going in a zigzagged line, up and down. I felt the chilled goosebumps appear when i returned to the same spot. I removed myself from his lips down to his neck, planting small, airy kisses. Christopher's hand's played in my unwashed messy hair. I heard just barely audible moans peep out of him.

Before i knew it my hand was wrapped around Christopher's half hard prick, stroking it slowly, concentrating at the tip. Six months or six years i still knew ever turn on the spot for him. I couldn't forget what my addicted wanted.

"Oh..."

My lips lingered over his, gliding ever so gently on his lower lip. He could feel the air inhaling and exhale out of my mouth. As if i was stealing oxygen from him, his breathing intensified so it seemed like he was trying to catch up with mine. I was his life support. With my lips so close for him to touch, my control over his next breath and the sluggish stroking of his prick it was enough to fill out completely. Surprisingly enough when i went to pull myself up from under the blankets to grab some lube and a condom my own prick was dripping precum on the inside of Christopher's thigh.

The second my head peeked out from under the covers i felt Christopher pull me back to down him. When i returned his big blue eyes, so innocent, so sad locked on me.

"No, i..." he stuttered, "I want to feel it. All of it."

"But..."

"Please Roman. I can't feel anything anymore... I want to feel you."

The sound of his voice breaking pitch so close to crying again and trying to be seductively i just agreed with him and returned back to my old spot. His hands were still trembling when he put them on my face and pulled me into a kiss.

Because i didn't want to risk anything i never went without a condom. The last thing i needed in life. That, or a kid. Thankfully i didn't have either of those worries with Christopher. He and Julia were broke up and considering the shape he was in I seriously doubt there was anyone else in these past six months.

Our kiss broke once again so i could wet my finger since he didn't want proper perversions. In the back of my mind i wonder if he really could handle this. He was an emotional mess.

My finger played around his hole, teasing it lightly. I watched his reactions carefully to know just how much to mess with him. When he looked able to manage the moment i pushed my finger inside. Christopher let out a raspy moan. God, he was beautiful. Wonderful. I couldn't take my eyes off him. His body was magnificent. Later i was going to pay for looking at such a sin. But i'd lay down a thousand times with this sin as long as it was with Christopher Watson.

Getting a bit querulous and enlivened i thrusted my finger quicker and inserted another. Christopher gasped out a moan and gripped my arm. His eyes were closed doing his best to focus.

"Roman..." He moans to himself.

I swallowed the drool that was seconds from falling out of my mouth. God, i wanted him. I couldn't wait any longer.

I removed my fingers and his body relaxed back down into the mattress. I repositioned myself over him. He put his legs around my hips and i cautiously located myself at his entrance. My arm was shaky when i used it to prop myself up. Christopher couldn't tell, his body was still quivering.

It took a couple times before my prick sled nicely into Christoper. Instantly he wrapped his arms around me and dug his nail into his back. Our chest were so close and i couldn't feel him breathe anymore so i stayed still to let him adjust. He pulled me down to him, smashing his lips against mine trying to breathe, hands frantically cawling my back and shoulders.

"Too much?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"No. Yes, ...no. I..." His voice was barely making any noise.

"Christopher," I interrupted him, "breathe."

He nodded and let out of a couple big breaths steadily. His body began to go limp and his labored breathing calmed down. So warry, i moved slow in and out of him. I didn't want to injure him.

It'd been awhile since we've done this and each time it was something new, interesting and astounding. But this time, in this moment, it felt different. I didn't have the desire to hurry to achieve my release or scrape away a little more of Christopher's dignity. I just wanted to take it slow, savor the instant, be apart of him forever. Who knows what the morning held and really i didn't want to know. Right now, right now is where i am and where i want to be with was right there, in my ear, moaning, breathing intently. I couldn't stand it. Pulses of hormones rushed down to my prick while that made it harder to control myself. God, he was tantalizing. Doing my best to contain myself i just barely sped up thrusting, in response Christopher let out of honey sweet moan. Fuck.

"Ahh..." His hands shot up in the back on my hair, "Roman."

I buried my head in his neck, biting, sucking and placing sloppy kisses up and down it. I kept rhythm the best i could without speeding up to much. Christopher tugged on my hair, dug at my shoulders moaning in my ear. God, i'm a mess. The sounds he was making echoed throughout my body.

I felt precum start to make my lower abdomen wet as the tip of his cock hit against me. His back was arching into me. He was lost in the moment just as i was. Eyes close, mouth open, body free will to me. He'd given up every part of his body to me. It was mine for the taking.

Out of everything else around us happened I listened to him groan some more before he began to words actual words with a raspy, weak and faded voice; "Roman...," he desperately huffed out, "I love you."

Stop.

My heart dropped. It completely stopped. Everything came to a sudden halt, or at least i thought. When i raised my head to look at Christopher his face remained unchanged. He continued to moan because i hadn't stopped thrusting. The sound of my heart beating against my chest started to become louder than Christopher. A twisted knot in my stomach formed and i felt panicked. I wanted to run, stop all of this and run. My mind was denying all order of command. Searching for a alternative of what was just said by Christopher.

He doesn't mean it.

Yeah, that's it. Christopher doesn't mean it. He said he was numb, couldn't feel anything. This is what he wanted to feel again. He doesn't love you, it's this that he loves. Love is… is… he doesn't love you. This wasn't love. No one could love you. You are a monster, a danger, a threat.

Pushing away the recent minute or two ago i forced myself to stay focused and finish. Rolling my hips quicker. He put off squeaks of high pitched with my movements.

Through my panting and strained thoughts of what Christopher had just said i felt him squeeze my neck and sniffle again.

"What? What's wrong? Am i hurting you?" I asked panicked.

"N-no.."

He opened his eyes and tears fell down his cheeks as he shook his head. His lips quivered. Oh no. He yanked me down into his arms and like a desperate, frantic and terrified like a child he clung onto me for dear life. Our sweaty bodies completely collided together. Neither of us speaking a word. Just helplessly listen to him cry and me embracing him as tight as i could.

And that's how we stayed for the rest of night, well, kinda. Eventually i manage to lay beside him and calm him until he fell asleep.

…

The next morning i woke up hating myself, along with sore shoulders and a bundle of nerve pain that shot down from my back to my testicals. Yes, as awkwardly as it was i awoke with this discomfort. I knew it was from falling asleep with a confused erection. I never want to do that again. But i hated myself for other reasons than that. I had to work that morning so i couldn't lay in bed with Christopher until he woke. And sadly, in the back of my mind, i hated waking up to him. Last night felt like one big dream, now to open my eyes and see him laying so close to me looking peaceful and less emotional i knew last night was real. Christopher had came back to me just as i was leaving. I loathed that he came back just to leave again.

Last night was just someone reaching their limits. Doing something they know they shouldn't just to make themselves feel better. He was going to regret it and never return again. He meant nothing he spoke last night. Desperation can cause you to do stupid things. But love? I could tell someone i loved them just to get a fix. Just to feel something.

This is how it's going to play out: Christopher is going to wake up feeling sore, regretful and rude. He'll go on a rant of how he'd love to come back but my past is too much for him to handle. He didn't sign up for that. I'll do my best to avoid a fight yet somehow my attitude will lead us into one and just like the first time he'll leave with tears on his face, a hand imprint on mine. It'd hurt in every way possible.

I stood in my bathroom brushing my teeth and from the corner of my eye watching Christopher sleep. Being mindful of every movement he made. It was around 8:28 in the morning so i figured it'd be awhile before he woke up.

Almost tip toeing back out the bedroom to put on my belt and tuck in my shirt i peeked over to Christopher, still asleep, good. I proceeded to go over to my full body mirror and adjust my appearance. Tan slack didn't look the best with a white button down but i was trying to wear less black. Not that what Sherlock said mattered or anything.

I looked up from buttoning my shirt to find Christopher looking at me with a puzzled stare on his face. My heart skipped a beat at his surprise but i kept a cool expression. You could almost say i didn't look peased to see him.

"Good morning." I said in a loud, clear voice.

Christopher shriveled down into the sheets making low groaning sounds.

"Morning." He returned back to me.

He stretched his body in directions like a cat and watched me put on my belt still harboring that same puzzled look on his face.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Work."

"It's Sunday."

"Just because it's Sunday doesn't mean Death takes the day off."

He nodded and started to look around the room. Looking for his clothes probably. Which from last night, they were scattered from the front door to bedroom.

"Kate is washing your clothes right now, they should be done in about an hour. Until then you can use the bath." I pointed to the bathroom.

"Alright, thank you."

I went back to getting ready while Christopher tried to wake himself up. His hair laid on his in multiple directions. Some pieces were standing straight up others down in a odd format. He was normally a heavy, crazy sleeper.

"Oh hey, I noticed there's a bunch of boxes laying around? What's that all about?" Christopher asked watching me put my shoes on.

"I'm moving," I sighed then looked up at him from my brows.

I didn't really want to tell him that i moving, especially where. In the back of my mind i knew he'd ask and it wouldn't go over well no matter what last night was. I didn't want anyone to know i was leaving but Mycroft that way if something were to happen i wouldn't be tossed in the rubbish or burned. Plus, i think it'd be a much interesting story to read about; "Mortician Adler of Adler Funeral home has, in simplest words, disappeared. Where could he be and why did he leave?". Now that, would be a something worth reading.

Once i went back to America i knew Mycroft will make sure i don't try and connect with Christopher or anyone in London. I'll be just like my mother. I'd just vanish from the face of this Earth practically.

"Oh. To where?" He asked trying not to look shocked.

I did answer right off. I finished putting my shoes on and went over to my dresser to grab my phone, see if i had any messages. Zero as always i noticed when nothing plastered against the screen. Honestly i was buying some time so i could make something up or get the courage to tell him the truth. Within seconds i couldn't make up a feelable lie so i was left with nothing but the truth.

"Back to America." I said carrying no emotion in my answer.

Immediately Christopher sat up and i watched panic form on his face. His mouth opened in protest but it took him a full a second to utter out the words.

"What? No. Why?! You can't"

"And why can't i?"

"Because! I just came back!"

As soon as the words fell out of his mouth for me to hear he seemed to regret them instantly. It was a selfish answer and probably not one he meant.

"...What about the case?"

"I've handed that over to the Scotland Yard. Sherlock can figure it out."

"What about Sherlock? You can't just move back to America. He needs to know you are alive! He's your father Roman."

Sherlock.

I took a deep breath, keeping all my frustration towards Sherlock inside, bottled up, tucked away. Moving away from London would allow me to have freedoms i was deprived from because of Sherlock. It wasn't fair.

"Don't, Christopher." I looked down, "You know my situation."

"I know but still… what about me?" His voice trailed off.

"What about you? Last night was just a dose of pain and pleasure. Which by the way wasn't even successful. You kept crying."

His face started to flush, turning red, he turned his head to the side avoiding eye contact with me.

"I said i was sorry Roman. I know you think i used you last night but i didn't. I'm sorry for everything i said and did, i was being thick. Your past is your business, but your future is something i want to be part of. If you allow me to be."

The tone of voice was breaking but maybe he meant every word. Maybe he was sorry. He was being thick. And maybe he was back for good.

"Christopher..." I began.

"Last night i meant every word. Every last word i said."

Christopher made sure to empathize greatly when he said every. It instantaneously brought me back to the when he said "I love you" from the moment i drifted off to sleep and woke up those words buzzed like hornets in my brain, stringing me if i tired to concentrate on something else. God, a part of me wanted him to mean it, but the bigger half knew it was impossible and erotic rather than romantic. Christopher didn't and couldn't love me.

He sat up more, composing himself before he spoke, "Roman i don't want to lose you. Please don't go back to America. I need you."

We locked in a deep stare. Trying to read each others mind, understand why we were reacting the way we did. I barely looked like i believed him and he was hopeless i would say.

See, this is why i didn't want to tell anyone. Now i have two people on my back about not moving. This was about me, not them.

"I'll think about it." I forced out.

Before he could say another word i backed away, going out of the room mostly by accident slamming the door behind me to go to a eight hours worth of piss poor focus of a job. God.

-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that was intense. Christopher is such a emotional cutie pie and Roman is a lost fuck-face. Was that mean? Anyways, chapter 27, what did you think? Review, Follow, Favorite you know! Please, please, please. I'm sorry it's been so long. I'll try and update when i can aka sooner. Chapter 28: The Questions and The Answers Roman takes Christopher out to break the news of his descion on moving back to America or not. Roman and Christopher openingly talk about Roman's past, Sherlock and John and a HUGE question is a asked that shapes the story for the rest of it's time. Also Roman and John have some one on one time! How will that go? All this when i post again! Thank you for the support and reviews you guys mean everything to me! I love you.


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